


By Any Other Name

by KindreTurnany



Category: Glee
Genre: Angst, Crime, Depression, F/F, F/M, Gen, Kidnapping, M/M, Murder, Original Character Death(s), Original Character(s), Other, PTSD, Rape, Self-Harm, Torture, no srsly bad stuff happens
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-23
Updated: 2012-08-21
Packaged: 2017-11-08 09:44:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 82
Words: 139,987
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/441859
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KindreTurnany/pseuds/KindreTurnany
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kurt had never felt he should have a different name before. He had never needed to. But he knew what was coming... and he'd rather be someone else when that happened.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Kurt: The Only Thing He Could

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings: murder, kidnapping, torture, rape, depression, self-harm
> 
> This fic does contain original characters. For the most part, I have made an active attempt not to overuse them, but an original character _does_ feature as the villain here, meaning he gets a fair amount of screen time.

"Oh, God, and this one's a fucking faggot." The burly man gestured drunkenly at Kurt with the barrel of his gun. "You can tell just by looking at his God-forsaken, flaming ass."

Kurt wished he could just wake up. His dad squeezed his hand, but Kurt couldn't seem to work up the strength to return the gesture. All he could focus on was the cold plaster against his back and the barrel of that gun, probably still warm from shooting the brave man who had tried to disarm the gunman.

"I still can't figure out why the fuck Banks sent me to this shithole of a town in the first place," the man continued as he finally moved his gun to face away from Kurt. "Ain't enough dough in the whole town to match a decent job in, well, any fucking place not Lima, Ohio."

Desperately, Kurt wished the man would argue himself out of the bank and off to a big city full of big banks with big bucks. His phone vibrated again. It was on silent, but it buzzed against the counter where the robbers had made everyone dump their cell phones.

"Shit, Pierce," the second gunman said as he returned to the front of the bank. "Banks isn't paying us to put on a show for the rednecks out here. So chill the fuck out." With that he returned to the vault in the back of the building.

Pierce practically pouted. "You hear that, faggot?" he pointed his weapon at Kurt again, and the boy held his breath. "I'm not to put on a show. Well why don't you put one on for us, huh? That getup you're wearing practically is one." He laughed at his own joke as he pulled roughly on Kurt's arm. Burt tried to hold onto his son, but his fingers slipped away from Kurt's when the burly gunman pressed the still-warm barrel of his gun to Kurt's temple and stared pointedly at the older Hummel's hand. "So, tell me kid, what's got you so fucking gay? Is it dance? Painting? Castration?" He laughed again and shook the boy when he didn't answer. "Well?"

Kurt opened his mouth but closed it again when nothing came out. "I…" He didn't know what he was supposed to do. His mouth was so dry he didn't think he would be able to say anything even if he could think of the words. They didn't much seem to matter.

They seemed even less important with that warm barrel shoved between his lips and against his tongue.

"You best answer me when I'm asking you something, unless you don't want a mouth to be answering with anymore." He spoke with his mouth so close to Kurt's face that the countertenor could smell his tic tac breath.

The gun slid slowly from Kurt's mouth, slick and shiny with spit he hadn't been able to find before. "I sing," he offered, hoping it was… gay enough for Pierce.

He laughed, and Kurt wanted to slap himself in the face for feeling relieved. "Well, little fag, sing for us."

Kurt had never been at a loss for what to sing before. He gaped at the madman who kept calling him a faggot, thinking that Defying Gravity hardly seemed appropriate for the situation. He almost laughed when his half-crazed terror crashed headfirst into a perfectly calm thought on song choice. He felt like there shouldn't have been room in his head for both.

When the bank robber took a step toward the still-silent boy, he hastily backed away and opened his mouth. He didn't know what he was going to sing until he'd started, and then he wasn't sure if he should laugh, keep singing, or beg to take it back.

_Whenever I feel afraid_  
I hold my head erect  
And whistle a happy tune  
So no one will suspect  
I'm afraid

Instead of shooting Kurt, Pierce laughed. "Oh, God, kid, you are _so_ _fucking gay!_ " He actually slapped his thigh with his gun. "My mother loved that song right up to the day I killed her dead." He bent over with laughter, and then Burt was there.

Kurt's dad tackled the man, wrapping his arm around Pierce's gun arm so he couldn't raise the weapon. The boy stared open-mouthed as the two men wrestled on the floor. He took a step back and another forward.

"What am I supposed to do?" he whispered to himself only moments before Burt managed to pry Pierce's fingers loose and the gun clattered to the floor.

The two men's struggling suddenly echoed in an otherwise silent room. It had seemed quiet before, but now the shuffling, sniffling, and crying had stopped as everyone stared at the gun. Pierce's partner was in the back. Pierce was occupied. Kurt's fingers closed around the grip before he realized he had labeled the weapon as _freedom._

"Shit, Wayne!" Pierce screamed but didn't get any more out before Burt slammed his fist into the robber's mouth.

The second man came out from the back glowering. "What the hell do you...?" He stopped and raised his gun, pointing it straight at Kurt who returned the favor without thinking too much about what that would mean. "Calm down, son, you don't know what you're doing there."

He didn't. Kurt's hands began shaking as it dawned on him that he was pointed a loaded gun at another human being.

"See, you don't want to shoot anyone. Just lay the gun down and we'll have a nice chat, okay?" Wayne advanced slowly toward Kurt as he spoke in a low, soothing voice.

"No!" Kurt shook his head but stopped and stared straight at Wayne once he realized that meant he couldn't aim. "D-d-don't come any… oh, shit, just stay there." Kurt's voice seemed small compared to the weight in his hands.

"I won't get any closer, kid. We can talk from here, eh?" He began inching toward the counter, which wasn't closer to Kurt but also wasn't where Wayne stood now.

"I said stay there." Kurt's voice broke, but he didn't stutter this time.

Wayne stopped and nodded. "Okay, okay. I'm reasonable. I'll stay right here. Now how about we let you go outside, and you give us the gun? That sounds reasonable too."

It actually didn't, but Kurt was too shaken to figure out why. Then he saw Wayne's gun still pointed at him and had an idea of what the problem could be. "N-no. I…" He swallowed, and it felt like his whole dried out tongue lodged in his throat. "Put your gun down."

Wayne actually _smiled._ "Kid, of the two of us, you're the least likely to shoot, which means your threats are the least worrisome. I've tried to be nice, but you're obviously too scared shitless to talk. So just put the gun down. Now." Wayne raised his own gun, making it more obvious than ever that he was ready to shoot Kurt.

Kurt hesitated a moment, then did the only thing he could think to do. He pulled the trigger.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song is "I Whistle a Happy Tune" from The King and I.


	2. Finn: Shades of the Same

Finn and his mom watched the news together sometimes. Not a lot because it was always boring or depressing, and Finn could hear about it all at school the next day, but sometimes. They hadn't really been watching a few nights ago, but the TV had been on with the sound turned down. And they saw a boy bundled away from the camera that found him anyway and stared into the wide-eyed, tear-stained face of Kurt Hummel.

They didn't turn it up. They called Burt.

Now Finn just wished the Hudsons had needed to wait for Burt to call because _everyone_ knew. The whole town had seen Kurt on the news and heard about how he shot a man dead. And while the news reporter called him a hero, there were others who claimed Kurt was "making trouble" with the bank robbers, that he put innocent people in danger by gaying it up when he should have tuned it down.

Finn hated them for it. But it helped that Kurt's friends surrounded and supported him, especially the glee club. For some reason, Finn thought at first that it would only be glee club coming by Kurt's house over the few days he took off from school. He'd known Kurt _claimed_ to be more popular than Rachel, but even Finn had few close friends outside the club—and he was the quarterback. Yeah, a few of the guys on the team still hung out with him sometimes, but he had realized they weren't all that close as his friendships in glee grew. It hadn't occurred to him that Kurt, who definitely didn't have many guy friends outside of glee, was friends with just about every girl he'd ever met, ever. And they all came to his house to wish him well. It was pretty awesome.

"Earth to Hudson," Kurt said, and it had the sound of something he'd said a few times.

"Sorry, man, spaced out." Finn smiled and hoped Kurt wouldn't be upset at him. He'd flown off the handle for some really random stuff over the past few days. Finn didn't mind because Burt had explained that Kurt needed to readjust after such a trauma-something, but he still would rather Kurt was happy.

"Obviously. Remember ten minutes ago when I said Mercedes and Tina would be here in five? Well, they're waiting now, and I still haven't found the right outfit for a shopping trip on which I don't intend to purchase anything. How do you plan for something like that?" He lifted two equally girlie shirts and asked, "Which of these says 'I have plenty of money and have chosen not to spend it here because your products are of inferior quality and not because my dad told me not to get anything today'?"

"Umm…" Finn stared blankly. They honestly looked like the same shirt in different shades of the same color.

"Choose one at random, frankenteen." Finn pointed and Kurt grinned. "Thanks!"

"Hey, Kurt," Finn said as the countertenor finished dressing. "If you have any problems, call me, okay? I'm not, you know, doing anything today. Just movies and homework, so I'm here for you."

"You haven't written your essay on the French Revolution yet, have you?" Kurt arched an eyebrow, and probably had a right to since he'd finished his over a week ago.

"I started to work on starting part of it, but that's not the point. You'll call me?"

Kurt sighed dramatically and adjusted his hair in the mirror of his vanity. "Sure, Finn, but I'll be fine."

Finn shuffled his feet. "You've only really been out that time we went to rent a movie, and you sort of freaked out when that guy bumped into you."

"That was days ago. I've talked with Janice about it, and I should be fine. Besides, Mercedes and Tina will be with me the whole time. I'm not even allowed to go into a dressing room or restroom." He paused. "Tell me again why you can't just go? Because I'd hate not to pee all day long, and they won't let me in the women's restroom anymore."

"Homework. And it's like a test without any test sheet, or something. Burt said so." All Finn remembered of that conversation was something about Kurt being comfortable around his family—which it felt kind of awesome to be included in even if Finn still felt terrible for what Kurt was going through—but they couldn't always be attached to his hip. They had talked about it during dinner, and Finn had been caught between Burt talking about Kurt's trip to the mall and Kurt talking about all the ingredients of whatever they were eating. It was weird Kurt told them _everything_ in it, but Finn still didn't have a clue what it was.

"I know, I know." Kurt waved his hand like he could brush the topic aside. "How do I look?" He sighed. "No, Finn, I don't really expect you to answer that. I'll call if there's trouble or when we're heading back, whichever comes first." He was out of the basement by the time he finished talking.

Finn figured he should either start his essay or Google how to pronounce "guillotine." He chose Google, which turned into Facebook. That became trying to get free cows for his farm. By the time Kurt called, Finn was staring at a picture of a cow that was born with one giant eye in the middle of its face and considering finding some porn because that would scare him less.

"Hey, Kurt," Finn tried to sound casual just in case Kurt just wanted to let him know they were on their way back. It made Kurt feel like an unpronounceable word when Finn expected him to be freaking at times when he was fine. The other way around didn't seem to bother him though.

The first sound Kurt made was a sniffle. "Hey, Finn." He sounded like he was crying.

"Are you okay? Do I need to come get you?" Finn stood and started looking around for his keys.

"No, we're already heading back. Tina drove, remember?" He panted a little, but mostly sounded okay, so Finn sat back down.

"What happened?"

"Nothing really. There were just… a lot of people. It felt… I don't know, crowded, like I couldn't have enough space ever again. I was fine, really, it just… it built up, and then I was crying. We're already outside. It's better here."

Finn could hear Mercedes comforting Kurt on the other end of the line.

"It's stupid. I'm such a wreck." Kurt sounded bitter. "I said I didn't want pills because I thought I was, I guess, stronger or something. I don't even have a good reason to be freaking out."

"You sure as hell do, Kurt." Finn stood up again but didn't have anywhere to go, so he started pacing. "Even just seeing a dead body is enough to send people to therapy. When you're the one—what happened to you is way worse. And after the other guy treated you like that too."

"Shit, Finn, you make McDougal sound like an abusive boyfriend. Stop trying to dance around words. You're clumsy."

Finn took a breath before answering, like Burt had told him to. "Dude, harsh."

For a while, Kurt was silent. "Sorry." When he spoke again, he sounded more like himself. "But don't call me 'dude.'"

Finn ignored that. "Would you rather have dinner, a bath, or a movie waiting for you when you get home?"

"All three. Bath first, with salts not bubbles."

"Is that the funny purple stuff?" Finn wandered into the bathroom so he could check.

"Yes, Finn," Kurt said with a sigh. "You're awesome."

Finn grinned even though Kurt couldn't see it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I suspect it doesn't actually make a lot of sense, but this chapter title is still one of my favorites.


	3. Kurt: Caught in an Avalanche

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song here is "You Are the Moon" by The Hush Sound.
> 
> This chapter takes place in-story on October 27, 2010.

Kurt pressed the palms of his hands against his ears. The halls at school were so crowded, and everyone was moving and talking and bumping into him. He felt like a twig caught in an avalanche. Finally, Kurt reached the choir room. It was only third period, so the room was empty. After closing the door, he sank to his knees against the wall. He had always hated school, hated the way people looked at him, the way they treated him. But it had never been this bad. And it wasn't even everyone else who had changed. It was him. Kurt was too fucked up now to handle what should have been everyday life.

He cursed when he realized he was crying. Again. He tried to remember what his psychiatrist Janice had told him to think about when he was freaking out, but the only thing that came to mind were little white pills no one would let him bring to school. And, shit, but that was where he needed them most.

"Well, lucky me, I thought I'd have to wait much longer to meet the fairy hero of Lima, Ohio." Kurt stiffened and darted his eyes around the room at the sound of the deep voice. A tall, dark-haired man stood from where he'd been sitting, half hidden from Kurt by the chairs. He might have been handsome if not for the broken nose and the scar running down the left side of his face.

"Who are you?" Kurt began to stand, but he froze when the man pulled a gun from the waistband of his pants, flicked off the safety, and casually pointed it in Kurt's direction.

"Ah, good boy. You already know what to do." The man grinned. It made him look demented, not happy. "Over here. Leave your bag."

Hands trembling, Kurt dropped his messenger bag to the floor and shuffled across the small room. He was already trying to think of ways to get the gun and carefully avoided putting his hand near the small knife in his pocket. If he was lucky, the man wouldn't notice it. Kurt had only a vague notion of how to use a blade—pointy end goes in bad guy—but it made him feel safer knowing he was armed with something. Last time he'd had nothing; this time he had a pocketknife close to his hand and another shoved into his boot, though that would be harder to reach.

Still grinning, the man motioned to the piano. "Empty your pockets on there."

Kurt tried to turn so that the pocket with the knife might be somewhat hidden from the man with the gun. He started with his wallet, sliding it slowly from his back pocket and resting it on top of the piano. His cell phone came next, and he sighed because he couldn't call the police, Janice, or his father without it. When he pulled the knife from his pocket, he tried to hide it in his palm and slip it into his sleeve. A strong hand grabbed him by the wrist before he realized the man had moved.

"Drop it, princess. You don't want to try that shit with me."

Kurt twisted his wrist toward the man's thumb and flipped the knife open once he was free. He thrust it wildly, but the man grabbed him again, this time twisting Kurt's arm so pain shot through it and his fingers opened. The blade clattered to the floor.

"There are a few things I guess I'll have to teach you after all. First lesson: never make me tell you anything twice." He twisted Kurt's arm again, making the boy cry out.

"What do you want with me?" The countertenor begged as tears streamed from his eyes.

"You killed one of my men and put another behind bars. I want you to understand how you've inconvenienced me is all. Though I suppose I'd also like to see your eyes dark and dead while your heart still beats. It's a hobby of mine, you see." While his voice had been menacing before, it was matter-of-fact now. It made Kurt shiver.

He didn't know what to do, so he said the first stupid thing that came to mind, "I doubt they sell that shit at Hobby Lobby."

The man didn't laugh. "The halls are mostly empty now, so we're going to go. We're going to walk slowly and calmly, standing so they can't see my gun pressed against your back. Got it?" Kurt nodded, and the man smiled again. "If anyone tries to stop us, you tell them you have to go to an appointment. I picked you up because your dad's at work. Call me your Uncle Rob, if you like." He did laugh at that.

The man put his hand, with the gun, in his pocket, but Kurt could still see where the barrel pressed against the fabric. It pointed at him. He motioned for Kurt to precede him and followed the boy as they walked from the school. The only person they ran into was Mr. Schuester, who believed that Rob was Kurt's uncle, was taking him to an appointment, and that Kurt didn't have his bag because it was already in the car. If he hadn't been so scared, Kurt would have cursed the man for being so dense.

Rob led Kurt to an old blue Chevy. Kurt sat in the middle with the gearshift between his knees. On his left was a woman who didn't bother to introduce herself, and on his right sat Rob and his gun. Somehow, Kurt only realized he wouldn't be going home that night when the woman started the truck and drove away from William McKinley High School. Then she drove them out of Lima. And then it was night, and Kurt wasn't sure where the day could have gone except maybe into the barrel of Rob's gun.

He should have been watching the road so he would know where they were. But the gun had been distracting. Kurt didn't even know what direction they'd left Lima from. All he knew was that they pulled up in front of a small house in a small town probably somewhere in Ohio. The woman unlocked the door before Rob pulled Kurt out of the car and shoved him toward the house.

There wasn't much furniture inside. Just a couch and a TV so old they couldn't properly wall mount it if they wanted to. Kurt didn't bother to wonder if there was more in the other rooms. Instead, he focused on the rope the woman pulled from a closet.

"Hold still, pretty boy, with your hands behind you," Rob hissed into Kurt's ear as the woman tied him. "Kitty won't make them hurt unless you force her to. She's such a sweetie."

After she tied his wrists, Kitty shoved Kurt to the ground and tied his ankles too. When she arched his back so she could tie ankles to heels, Kurt suspected Rob had lied about the hurting. He tried to struggle, but Rob reminded him not to with a growl and a gun to the face. Kurt nearly went cross-eyed staring at it. Rob handed the gun to Kitty and carried Kurt to the closet. He dropped Kurt to the floor and slammed the door shut.

Kurt landed awkwardly on his arm and cried out, but no one seemed to care. He tried to shift so it would hurt less, and that was the only thing that kept the door from slamming into the top of his head when Rob closed it. Something slammed against the door from the other side, and Kurt thought for a moment they had barricaded it. Then Kitty moaned loudly and a rhythmic beating began. Kurt supposed they meant something by having sex against the door of the closet they had locked him in, but he didn't care to decipher it.

He wanted to go home. He wanted his dad to hold him and tell him everything would be okay even though they both knew Kurt would only be okay if they could find a pill that worked for him. He wanted Finn to hug him silently again because even if it was depressing, it was the only time the two had really touched without it being awkward. He wanted to sit with Mercedes just talking long after the end of a chick flick that wasn't that great but had them both in tears. He wanted to sing.

Singing, he realized, was one thing they couldn't take from him so easily.

_Shadows all around you as you surface from the dark  
Emerging from the gentle grip of night's unfolding arms_

It helped to sing, even softly. Kurt felt more like himself and less like a dirty blanket wadded up and tossed in a closet somewhere.

_Darkness, darkness everywhere, do you feel all alone?  
The subtle grace of gravity, the heavy weight of stone_

He remembered the blade still in his boot. Could he reach it? He tried to stretch his hands toward the top of his boot, but the rope stopped him short. When he got out of this, Kurt decided to start wearing shorter boots.

_You don't see what you possess, a beauty calm and clear  
It floods the sky and blurs the darkness like a chandelier_

The countertenor rolled awkwardly, still singing softly to himself as Rob and Kitty continued their full-body pounding against the door. He tried to scoot himself against the floor in a way that would snag the zipper on the outside of his boot. The carpet burned his arms, but the zipper moved.

_All the light that you possess is skewed by lakes and seas  
The shattered surface, so imperfect, is all that you believe  
_

Kurt rolled again, this time onto his stomach. He wriggled around until he felt the knife slip and heard the dull thump of it hitting the floor. He scooted himself back along the carpet so he was next to the blade, then turned almost onto his back and tried to find it with his fingers.

_I will bring a mirror, so silver, so exact  
So precise and so pristine, a perfect pane of glass_

Finally, his finger brushed against metal warmed by sitting against his leg. He squirmed closer to it and had the tiny weapon in his hand. Sliding the blade from the handle took more awkward fumbling during which Kurt barely managed not to cut himself.

_I will set the mirror up to face the blackened sky  
You will see your beauty every moment that you rise_

Holding his breath, Kurt pressed blade to rope and began sawing it back and forth as best he could. Though he ran out of lyrics, he continued humming the sweetly sorrowful melody as he worked. Outside, they slammed into the door one last time as Kitty moaned "Oh, Robin," and Rob sighed so quietly Kurt almost didn't hear it.

Kurt cursed the rope for not being thinner. This was taking too long, and his kidnappers would probably open the door soon. They'd find him with the knife and shoot him. They'd laugh at his corpse and throw it on the side of the road. He tried not to picture himself dead because it kept turning into Wayne Garcia covered in blood on the floor of the bank. His eyes were glazed over and his mouth open.

The blade slipped through the rope at last, and Kurt breathed again. His arms were free. Freeing his ankles took less time.

He scrambled quietly to his feet and positioned himself against the wall beside the door. Kurt's plan was little more than "pointy end in bad guy when he comes through the door." It obviously would not be enough, but it was all he had and still better than "wait around to get killed."

No one came through the door. Kurt heard movement for a while, but then it stopped. Nothing. No one. His hands cramped in their death grip on the knife's handle. Still no sound came from outside the closet. They could have left. Or they could be sitting out there waiting. Or sleeping. Or gone.

Gripping the small weapon in his right hand, Kurt used his left to carefully turn the knob on the door. It made more noise than he liked, but still turned. He pushed the door outward to reveal a dark room. It looked empty too.

Kurt almost laughed. He had a chance.

He inched slowly out of the closet, straining his senses for any hint of his captors. They wouldn't likely take his escape attempt well. Though he eyed the front door, Kurt decided against it. If they _were_ watching for him, the doors would be the obvious choices. There was a window that led to the side of the house. Kurt would try that.

He inched over to the window, trying not to make a sound and wishing he just knew where Robin and Kitty were. Kurt's left hand worked at the latches on the window as his right held the knife defensively. The window slid open easily, but Kurt winced at the noise when he shoved the screen out. He followed it quickly into the space between this house and the neighbor's. The neighbor's yard, he decided, would be his best bet. Their gate had a lock on it, so he hopped the fence. He landed heavily enough to stagger but regained his balance quickly.

Laughter.

Someone chuckled softly from behind Kurt. The boy spun, but not fast enough. A strong hand lashed out from the shadows in the corner of the tall wooden fence. Kurt slashed at it, drawing blood before the fingers closed around his wrist. It wasn't enough.

"Kitty bet you'd go through more of the house, either to kill us or sneak out the back, but I knew better," Robin said as he deftly disarmed Kurt. "Damn kids always think they're so smart, going through the neighbor's because no one ever thought of _that_ before, honestly." He slammed the teen's face roughly against the fence. "I've thought of everything before. Remember that, princess." He rubbed Kurt's face against the wood, driving splinters into his cheek.

He carried Kurt back into the house and handcuffed him to a bed. When Kurt kicked at his kidnapper, Rob growled and tied his feet together with another piece of rope reaching from the one around his ankles to the footboard. Robin pulled it too tight, so Kurt was stretched painfully across the length of the bed. The only comfort Kurt had left was that Rob would have tied him with legs spread if he intended rape.


	4. Puck: A Scared Little Boy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Writing this chapter was what made me fall in love with Puck's character. c:

Heartfelt as everyone seemed, this was just stupid. Mr. Schue told the club to sing what they'd want to say to Kurt, but Puck was pretty hung up on the part where Kurt wouldn't hear a note of it. He was missing. Gone. Kidnapped by a man Shuester had _talked to._

Puck sat in the back of the choir room listening to depressing songs when he could actually hear singing between the sobs of everyone crying like a bunch of girls—okay, some of them _were_ girls, but that didn't get them off the hook. He held a pocketknife in his hands, slowly opening and closing it. Open. Close. Open. Close.

He'd been the first to find Kurt's stuff. It had seemed weird to him at first that Kurt would carry a knife, but why not? The girly-boy had killed a man, so that pretty much made him a badass. A depressed, traumatized, and freaked-out one, sure, but it sounded right to Puck. You didn't get badass by being normal. You got it by being fucked the hell up.

When he saw the knife, Puck took it. To hide it, mostly, because weapons weren't allowed on campus. It actually kept Kurt from getting in trouble, though most people would probably have forgotten about a knife in the commotion of Kurt's being kidnapped.

"Puck," Mr. Schue called from the front of the room. "Are you ready?"

"Not really." He shrugged, hiding the pocketknife in his palm. It fit snugly and he wondered if Kurt had tried to hide it the same way. The dude had small hands, and the bastard who took him probably would have noticed it. Probably did notice it, or Kurt would have kept the thing.

"Puck, you _do_ care that one of your friends has been kidnapped by a known criminal, don't you?"

Crap, Mr. Schue had been giving Puck that look all week. Of course he cared. But he didn't see how singing would help. Yeah, it did with a lot of things, but this was different. At least if Schuester was otherwise useless he'd been able to identify the homicidal, bank-robbing, rapist freak who took Kurt. No, maybe knowing made it worse. Puck had Googled the guy and seen what he did to his victims. It was fucked up in a way so far from badass Puck had run to the bathroom and puked.

"Puck!"

"Yeah, I care. I just don't wanna sing." Shit, he'd been spacing out too much. He barely knew Kurt, so why should it mess him up so badly for the kid to be taken?

Schuester sighed. They'd talked about this before. "Why not, Puck?"

The question Puck never answered. Well, why the hell not? "Because I'd rather go steal a God-damned shot gun, hunt that Banks bastard down, and blow his fucking face off." Puck clenched Kurt's knife so hard his arm shook. He was proud he'd managed not to scream, but Shue's face looked like he had anyway. "And his balls," Puck added. He realized he was shaking only after Quinn put her arms around him.

Puck didn't want a hug. He wanted the whiskey he'd stashed in his locker. He wanted to go home, lock his door, and scream along to bad death metal until his throat hurt and he couldn't talk anymore. Then he wanted to finish off that bottle of whiskey and as many more as it took for him to pass out. Then he wanted to wake up with the worst hangover known to man and scream again until someone locked him away some place where he'd never have to worry about Kurt fucking Hummel again.

"You can't hold all that in, Puck. You're angry and hurt. The point of this assignment isn't that Kurt will hear you; it's about expressing the pain you feel at having him taken away from us." Hell, but Mr. Schue had a talent for sanctimonious speeches.

"I'd rather express it by getting him back. I can murder and sing at the same time, I'm sure of it." He shrugged out of Quinn's embrace only to be caught by Finn and Schue.

"Don't do anything you'll regret. Or anything that will get you hurt. We can't lose anyone else now, Noah." Schuester's face looked worthy of punching, but Puck wasn't that far gone. And why did people always think things would get through to him better if they used his first name?

The others were crowding him now. This was about to get mushy. They wanted Puck to get in touch with his emotions, but all Puck's emotions wanted from him was screaming and shooting.

He'd never killed anyone, but he thought he could do it to Banks. Puck had met a kid in juvy who killed a man. He was only like fourteen, but he said it'd been easy enough to do. It was the parts before and after that were hard.

"I still think this assignment is stupid."

"Well maybe you should stop fixating on Robin Banks and start thinking about Kurt Hummel," Rachel said. When he she gotten so close to him? She spoke from practically in his ear.

Puck shook his head. Rachel was just an annoying and prudish bitch. He could afford to ignore her.

"Noah, Kurt is your _friend._ He'd feel for you if your roles were reversed." Rachel looked as punchable as Schue. Well, maybe a little less.

"Do you know what that son of a bitch will do to him?" His voice trembled, but he didn't care anymore. He wasn't really a badass anyway. He was a scared little boy peeking out from under the blankets and hoping no one noticed. "I can't… I don't… God, I wouldn't wish that on… on…" He collapsed into a chair and buried his face in one hand while the other clenched around the pocketknife.

Someone was hugging him again. He tried to shrug out of it, but then someone else joined in. Puck became the center of a big glee group hug of sentimental crap and doom or whatever. It was like they'd all given Kurt up for dead already.

"Do you think he's coming back?" He didn't ask it of anyone in particular, but no one answered. Of course they didn't. They'd probably all looked Banks up too. If Kurt did somehow manage to get home, he'd be so batshit out of his mind he wouldn't be able to tie his shoes without screaming. Puck didn't like to admit when he was crying, but it seemed like the thing to do at the time.


	5. Kurt: Far, Far Away

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song here is "Home" from Beauty and the Beast. The Broadway version; this song wasn't in the Disney movie. But I love it. It started playing while I was writing one of the earlier chapters, and my brain screamed at me, "OMG, KINDRE, U MUST B USING THIS!1!ONE!ELEVEN!" Yes, my brain is occasionally a nine year old who somehow got online. Shut up. Don't judge me.

Kurt had never been a fan of action movies. He preferred musicals and romantic comedies. Disney princess movies were probably the true loves of his life. Action movies, though, were just stupid. So many of their plots had potential for scathing psychological thrillers, but they filled them with brainless muscle-heads who were mentally and physically unbreakable—or just too stupid to lose it.

Right now, Kurt wished he were an action movie star.

Another sob slipped out. It shook him and left him trembling. Blood dripped into his eye, and he tried to wipe it with his shoulder. Stupid. He knew he couldn't reach with his hands bound behind him. Kurt blinked the blood away as the girl screamed. Again.

Robin called the girl Annette. Even before the bastard drew her a gaping face wound to match his own scar, she hadn't been as pretty as Quinn. But she had long red-blond hair, big blue eyes, and a killer pair of pumps. Or she used to before Rob tossed aside her shoes, blindfolded her, and chopped off most of her hair with Kurt's pocketknife.

"Please," she begged. It seemed the only word left to her after her time with Robin. "Please…" Her breath came in ragged gasps. Robin was raping her again.

Kurt struggled against the handcuffs binding him. He wanted to help her. He wanted to help himself more, but either way, he needed free. Shit, but the torn flesh on his wrists was going to get infected at this rate. Annette turned her head to stare at Kurt, and he realized he had been making a strangled groaning sound. But Rob grabbed her face by the jaw and turned her back to his face away from Kurt's.

She couldn't see anyway with that blindfold on.

But she could hear, and Robin hadn't bothered to gag Kurt today. If he couldn't slip his cuffs and get both captives out of this place seconds before the building exploded theatrically, well, he could at least show the girl that she was not alone.

_Is this home?  
Is this where I should learn to be happy?  
Never dreamed  
That a home could be dark and cold  
I was told  
Every day in my childhood:  
Even when we grow old  
Home should be where the heart is  
Never were words so true!  
My heart's far, far away  
Home is too  
_

Annette tried to look at Kurt again when he began singing, and Robin sent a quick glare over his shoulder. Kurt's voice trembled at the threat in the man's expression, but he continued singing. His voice grew stronger as he continued. Kurt ignored the tears that streamed down his face as he sang. They were normal and harmless enough.

_What I'd give to return  
To the life that I knew lately  
But I know now I can't  
All my problems going by  
Is this home?  
Am I here for a day or forever?  
Shut away  
From the world until who knows when  
Oh, but then  
As my life has been altered once  
It can change again  
Build higher walls around me  
Change every lock and key  
Nothing lasts, nothing holds  
All of me  
My heart's far, far away  
Home and free_

Rob had finished with the girl. He dropped her and walked over to Kurt. He knelt down and smiled. While Kurt stared at his teeth, Robin brought his fist up and slammed it against the boy's face. When Kurt looked down, he realized Robin hadn't bothered to put his cock away. The man's sick grin widened.

"Oh, Kurt, you can't just start singing like that. It ruined the mood. Would you like a lesson in the proper feel for this situation?"

Since altering the mood had been Kurt's intent, he didn't see much point in bothering to respond.

Rob spread his hand over Kurt's face and smashed the countertenor's head against the wall. "I expect the civility of an answer, princess. Robin Banks isn't the sort of guy you can just ignore, especially not in your situation."

What had been a wretched sob morphed halfway into laughter in Kurt's throat and came out as a choking croak. "Seriously? Did the name drive you to it, hun?" When Robin smashed Kurt's head against the wall again, he realized that may not have been the smartest thing he said since getting kidnapped.

"Don't you talk to me like that, you fucking faggot," he sneered. "Hell, I bet you _want_ me to fuck you now. Is it a turn on for you, watching my fat cock slide in and out of someone who can barely hold me?"

"No." Kurt coughed. Blood and spittle sprayed out of his mouth onto Rob's face. Kurt wished he'd done it on purpose so he could at least have earned the slap he got for it. "Though I do sort of need to vomit. Do you have a paper bag or an old hat?"

Robin laughed at that. "Well, Kurt, aren't you just fucking adorable."

The boy flinched at his name. He hated to hear it coming from Rob's mouth—it was better when his captor called him "princess." It certainly helped his imagination. Princesses got captured by villains all the time, and rescued by heroic princes. Kurt knew it wasn't likely, but it helped him fall asleep sometimes.

Another chuckle from Rob was all the warning Kurt had before a fist landed heavily in his gut. Air rushing from his lungs wasn't nearly as foreign an experience as it had once been, but Kurt found it never lost its excitement. Or hadn't yet, at least. Rob stood as Kurt doubled over as best he could with his hands bound behind him and landed a kick in the boy's gut for good measure before leaving the room.

Kurt coughed loudly when he could breathe again. As he quieted, he realized the girl was saying his name. "What," he asked, more curtly than he had intended.

"Thank you. It was beautiful." She cried freely, but the corners of Annette's mouth curved into something like a smile. He would have smiled back if she could have seen it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had to ask myself if I could honestly name a bankrobber Robin Banks. It seems I decided I could, but only if I hang a lampshade on it. Consider yourself lampshaded, Robbie. And Annette is such a pretty name; I wish I knew an Annette. I did serve a coffeedrink to an Annette at my work, but I thought it best not to tell her my relation to the name.


	6. Puck: And Life Only

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song is "It's Alright Ma (I'm Only Bleeding)" by Bob Dylan. I admit, I've never actually listened to much Dylan, but this song is awesome. And the product of somewhere between thirty minutes and two hours online trying to find the right song for this chapter.

"So how are you holding up?" Damn, but Mr. Schue's "I am dearly concerned for your plight" face made him look like he needed to take a dump.

Puck rolled his eyes. "Fine. I got no reason not to be."

"Puck, I know you've taken it pretty hard what happened to Kurt, even though you two weren't exactly close." The teacher kept his voice soft like he thought he'd scare Puck away otherwise.

"Didn't need to be. We're both in glee, and the whole club is like family, you know?" He shrugged.

"I know." He nodded his head and clasped his hands. "I just want you to know I'm here for you, okay? If you need anything, even just someone to talk to who won't look at you like you've suddenly leapt out of character."

"Kay, got it. That all?" Yeah, because Puck desperately wanted to talk to Schuester. He dreamed about it every night as he cuddled a pretty fucking pony. Honestly, who did this guy think he was?

"One more thing. I know this might seem invasive or rude, but I want you to know that I just want to help you, Puck."

"Whatever. Shoot."

Schuester's eyebrows pulled together in either concern or concentration, and he licked his lips quickly before speaking. "Noah, have you ever been abused?"

"No," Puck scoffed and ignored the use of his first name, "Why?" He might have been offended by the question if he weren't so busy being confused.

"Oh. I, ah, wondered based on the way you reacted to… to what you thought Banks would do to Kurt. Especially since it overshadowed anything else that had happened to Kurt, at least for you." Puck tried but couldn't figure out if Mr. Schue believed him or not.

"I'm pretty sure it's overshadowy for Kurt too, since that's probably the most immediately painful part."

"I know. I... I just hadn't thought of it that way before." One thing Puck could say for Schuester, the man had some talented eyebrows. They danced around his forehead like they were barely connected to the rest of his face.

"Maybe you should be wondering why everyone avoided thinking about it instead of why I didn't." He started standing from the chair he'd taken in Schuester's office.

"No, Puck, wait. It's not as simple as that." He shook his head and waved for his student to sit again.

Puck groaned. "Fine, how about 'that was ages ago'?"

Mr. Schue shook his head. "Only if ages are measured in days; I just wanted to give you a little time before possibly bringing something up."

"Well, you didn't, so I'm not sure what I'm still doing here." It almost came out as a question, but Puck managed to shove enough indignation in to make up for it.

"Whatever reasons you do or don't have, we both know you sometimes handle things differently from other kids your age."

"I'm not a kid—" but Puck didn't have a chance to say more.

"For example: driving your mother's car through the front of a convenience store and making off with the ATM." He raised an eyebrow like he expected Puck to apologize or something.

Instead, Puck shrugged. "It happens."

"Not for normal teenagers, it doesn't. I just want to make sure you won't… act out like that again."

"Look, I did the underage version of time and some community service for that already." Puck leaned forward. He hadn't even managed to keep the money from the ATM. Or get paid for the community service, which was apparently always done for free. That seemed stupid to him.

"I know you did. And I don't want you to have to again, not when I know you're hurting for your friend." He looked so concerned it made Puck want to puke.

"Mr. Schue, this is getting a little sissy for me, so why don't you talk to Finn or something, okay? He's a ton more messed up over Kurt than I'll ever be." Puck stood and ignored Schuester's attempts to make him sit again this time. He didn't need to talk about his feelings—he never had.

He texted Santana once he was out of Schue's office because he knew she'd wash away all thought of his girlie talk with Mr. Schue, but apparently it was "girls' night" or something with Brittany. When he suggested a threesome, all she replied with was "lol, fuck off or i won't screw u 2moro either." She could be such a bitch sometimes.

Next he tried calling Quinn—she was too classy a girl to text, even if he was trying to hook up with her while she had a boyfriend.

"Puck." Quinn's voice, beautiful as it was, sounded mostly just annoyed. She didn't say anything more.

"Hey, Quinn. What's up?" He'd gotten damn good at sounding casual.

"I don't know since you're the one who called me." He could almost see her. Quinn's face would be scrunched up with annoyance to match her voice, but her eyes would soften as she licked her soft lips because she _did_ have feelings for him. He'd just scared her off by getting her pregnant or whatever. No big deal. She totally wanted Puckzilla or she wouldn't have slept with him in the first place.

"I was just wondering if you were doing anything. We could hang out or something. Flip a coin for bad zombie movie or bad romance movie." Girls liked compromise, right?

"No, Puck. I'm busy," she sighed softly into the phone. He liked talking to her in person better. That way he would feel the soft breath of air and see her eyes looking up at him through her eyelashes.

"Like washing your hair busy or like you actually have plans busy?" It made a difference, and Puck could talk his way in, probably in either case, though he had better chances with the former.

"I have a date tonight. With Sam."

Oh. Him.

"Oh."

"I have to get ready, so… I'll see you at school tomorrow." The line went dead before Puck could say goodbye or talk her out of it.

He didn't dislike Sam. Just… the guy was dating Quinn when her first excuse for not dating Puck had been that she needed time to herself. Her second had been that Puck was basically just a horny child, but he tried not to think about that one as much. He loved her, whatever else he did. And that was what counted, right?

Puck groaned and went home. He thought about the way she had hugged him when he freaked about Kurt in front of the glee club as he opened a bottle of something he hadn't bothered to check the label of after he had pulled it from his mom's liquor cabinet. No one was home. His sister had a recital or something tonight that Puck was supposed to go to but didn't. His mom was already there.

Puck took a longer drink than he should have and collapsed onto his bed while his fingers groped for the radio remote. He would get drunk and sing and not think about Schuester, or Kurt, or Quinn, or Sam, or even Beth—though she tried to sneak into the places in his mind vacated by the others. He finally got the radio on and came in midway through a song. With another long drink, Puck began to sing along.

_You lose yourself, you reappear  
You suddenly find you got nothing to fear  
Alone you stand with nobody near  
When a trembling distant voice, unclear  
Startles your sleeping ears to hear  
That somebody thinks  
They really found you.  
_

Drink and song, Puck realized as he tried to fit something down his throat between verses, was what he wanted of the night anyway. Santana only mattered to him in that she was almost always willing. And Quinn mattered plenty but didn't want to. And Beth he'd never see again if the beautiful baby girl was lucky.

_A question in your nerves is lit  
Yet you know there is no answer fit to satisfy  
Insure you not to quit  
To keep it in your mind and not forget  
That it is not he or she or them or it  
That you belong to._

_Although the masters make the rules  
For the wise men and the fools  
I got nothing, Ma, to live up to.  
_

Puck tried never to let himself think of Kurt anymore because it wasn't even Kurt he thought of. It was a man with a broken nose, a scar, and more victims than Puck wanted to count. He tried to sink into the music, but everything else kept shoving its way in. When he pushed one back, another took its place.

This wasn't working. Turning his mind away from singing, Puck took his drink to the computer and began searching for stories on Robin Banks again. There wasn't anything new, and looking at the old stuff more only made it even worse. It didn't scare Puck so much because he had some weird sympathy reaction to the pain of Banks' victims. It was more that he wondered how in the world you could do that to a person. Not morally. Like literally, what the guy did to them that they ended up so completely fucked.

Hell, maybe Mr. Schue was right about Puck. He was screwed over in the head. He hurled the now-empty bottle at the wall and went to bed without picking up the shattered glass or turning off the radio.

_And if my thought-dreams could be seen  
They'd probably put my head in a guillotine  
But it's alright, Ma, it's life, and life only._


	7. Kurt: No Less Fiercely

They moved around a lot. Kurt became particularly familiar with cheap hotel rooms and found them all remarkably similar in layout and hideous décor. Sometimes Annette tried to smile when he told her all the ways he would remodel each of their hotel rooms. But most of the time she ignored him in favor of a blank stare at an empty spot on the usually yellowed wall. She had never fought back hard enough to stop Robin, but at least she had tried. Now she didn't bother. Kurt would have wrapped an arm around her shoulders if he wasn't bound by his wrists to the headboard.

The door opened to reveal Robin, back from a grocery trip. He dumped a paper bag onto the other bed and kissed Kitty. The woman had been guarding Kurt and Annette while her boyfriend shopped.

"Hey, baby," she murmured, but her voice sharpened for the next part. "You took your sweet time, didn't you? I've been waiting ages for a warm shower." She pushed him playfully.

"What can I say, I like dirty girls. Like these two." He motioned to his prisoners and chuckled.

"About that," Kurt said, glad Kitty rarely gagged them. "I'm not actually a girl."

Robin scowled. Kurt knew provoking his captors with smart-ass remarks was probably not the most intelligent tactic ever adopted by someone handcuffed to a bed, but he needed to do _something_. He had tried being quiet, but all it made him feel was empty and hurt. At least this way he could feel like he was fighting back somehow.

It suddenly seemed like even less a great idea when Rob growled something about proof and started tearing off Kurt's pants.

"What the hell!" Kurt screamed and kicked wildly. One of his feet landed on Robin's face and forced the man back. But then he came forward again and straddled Kurt before pulling his pants off the rest of the way.

Kitty sighed dramatically and made her way to the bathroom where she could finally get her shower.

Rob didn't move again, just sat on Kurt, staring as the boy screamed for him to get the fuck off of him already. He smiled almost softly. "I realize part of this is my fault too, you know." He nodded his head though no one had asked him anything. "By taking in one of my more usual pets, I let you think I'd rather not do as much harm to you."

"Fuck you."

The man laughed deep in his throat and leaned forward. His erection pressed against Kurt. "I was taking my time because you're special, Kurt."

"Don't call me that," Kurt spat. The sound of his name in Robin's mouth made him nauseous.

"Then what?" the man grinned as he leaned back to kneel above Kurt. "Because you need a name other than 'princess.'" He rubbed his hand against his jeans where the bulge of his erection strained against the denim.

Kurt had never felt he should have a different name before. He had never needed to. But he knew what was coming, could see it aching to get out of Robin's pants and into Kurt's ass, and he'd rather be someone else when that happened. "Alex." It was as good a name as any. Better than most.

"Alex? Really? I expected you to come up with something more exotic." Rob rubbed his chin and continued when Kurt just shrugged as best he could given the circumstances, "Fine then, _Alex_. I'm going to fuck you so hard my dick comes out your eye sockets."

He'd been right. It sounded like someone else's name even when shoved at him instead of someone else. Kurt—Alex—wondered how long that would last but decided it didn't much matter about the time Robin started unzipping his jeans.

The man pulled his pants off and left them at the foot of the bed. As he reached past Kurt—Alex—the boy noticed his pocketknife in the front pocket of the jeans. He inched his toes toward it. Robin settled himself between Kurt's—Alex's—legs and smeared lube on his dick as the countertenor tried to work the weapon free without calling attention to himself—or mostly his right leg. He got it out onto the sheets and remembered not to smile.

Then Robin grabbed his legs, positioned himself, and rammed his hard cock so far into Kurt that the boy thought he would split in two. He screamed and any attempt to think of himself as someone called Alex either rushed out between his lips or was crushed to oblivion somewhere in his ass.

Robin didn't give Kurt a chance to get used to the feel of a man inside him. He pumped viciously in and out, telling "Alex" how wonderfully tight he was. The only reply Kurt gave was to scream and try to pull away. It felt not so much like being raped as it did like dying. He'd spent plenty of time online and knew how anal sex was supposed to go. He was supposed to get ready. There was no doubt in his mind that Robin knew that too.

Kurt didn't know many curses compared to some of his friends, but he hurled every last one at Rob, most of them more than once. He arched his back trying to pull away, pushed his feet uselessly against the sheets. His foot landed on the pocketknife.

Pain flashed through him. "Oh, motherfucker!" His feet shot out and his weight fell to the mattress. Robin laughed, but it didn't come out quite right because he was panting. Beside them, Annette cried and pleaded with Rob to leave Kurt alone.

"Sorry, bitch, that's not his name anymore."

Kurt managed to lift himself again, high enough for his foot to find the knife. He screamed and cried and writhed. His foot swung out, then back in, hitting the pocketknife. He collapsed onto the mattress and knew he'd gotten the weapon because it fucking hurt under his back.

Then Kurt ran out of things to distract his mind with. Only Robin's broken nose and relentless thrusting remained. Kurt knew he was bleeding. It hurt too much for him not to be. He groaned and it turned into a sob. He felt his body tearing apart starting with the area clenched around Rob's cock.

Fuck no. He was either Alex, who was invented for the sole purpose of withstanding the impossible and the horrible, or Kurt Hummel who never let anyone or anything get to him. It didn't really matter which because he was pretty sure neither one would roll over and beg for anything from the fuckface pumping into his ass.

Between pants and sobs he asked, "Trying to prove a point, Robbie? You can come pretty much whenever now."

Rob punched the boy's face but came with a grunt as his fist connected. Kurt would have a black eye, and a sore ass, but the first part felt strangely worth it, especially when Rob growled, "Don't call me that."

Kurt carefully arched his left eyebrow but ruined it by flinching when Rob brought up his fist again. He could work on that. Robin smirked at the look on Kurt's face, but the boy found it in himself to smirk back. He had a knife, and _dear Robbie_ didn't know. Kurt would have to use the weapon tonight though, or Rob and Kitty would just take it from him tomorrow.

"Annette," he whispered after Robin joined Kitty in the shower.

"Yeah?"

"If you have a chance, I want you to get away, don't worry about me." They had tied her with rope, but the cold metal of handcuffs held Kurt. The pocketknife would only free one of them tonight. It was okay. Annette needed freedom more immediately anyway.

"Kurt, I can't just leave you with… him." She shuddered, and a half-sob escaped her chapped lips.

"You can. And I meant it when I changed my name to Alex. If you get away, you tell the police that's my name. I don't… I don't want my dad to get his hopes up just for Rob to kill me the next day, you know?" Even whispers felt too loud.

"Which is why I—"

"No, Annette," he cut her off, no less fiercely for that it was quiet. "I need you to swear to me. I'd rather stay here with you free than know I was the reason you couldn't get away. It would kill me. Literally. Just promise."

She stared at him for a long moment. "Only if you'll promise the same to me."

"It's not the—"

"It's the same. Promise." Her gaze was steadier than he'd ever seen it.

Kurt nodded. "I promise, Annette."

"Then I promise too… Alex."

He closed his eyes to work on a plan but fell asleep instead.

Robin was snoring when Kurt woke. He'd heard the man try to fake a snore, and this was definitely real. When he turned his head, Kurt found Kitty asleep too. He jangled his handcuffs just a little to see if they would respond, but neither moved.

His body was sorer than when he'd fallen asleep. Only biting mercilessly on his lower lip kept him from crying out at the pain when he arched his back so that he could bring his feet up to grab the pocketknife. Once he had it, he fell back softly to the mattress and looked over to where Robin and Kitty still slept.

"Kur—Alex," Annette hissed. He only shook his head. They needed to be quiet.

He worked the knife in between his toes. When he brought his leg up to place the knife in Annette's bound hands—flexibility, it turned out, was useful in captivity as well as cheerleading and sex—it hurt as badly as when he arched his back. Most of the pain emanated from his butt–Kurt refused to give in to it.

"Cut," he ordered softly and watched as she worked the blade out of the handle and began sawing at her bindings. He glanced back at their captors every once in a while, but the even, constant sound of Robin's snoring reassured him.

Then her hands were free, and Annette froze with disbelief practically erupting from her eyes.

"Take it," Kurt ordered then, "and run."

Annette nodded, though she stared longingly at his handcuffs, obviously wishing to free him despite her promise. She kissed Kurt, her chapped lips rough against his, then stood carefully. She padded over to the door and silently opened the lock. She left, pulling the door closed behind her, and the last glimpse Kurt had of the girl's face was a wide-eyed stare directed at Rob as if she expected him to supernaturally wake and stop her.

Kurt expected it too, so he couldn't sleep after Annette left. But Robin kept snoring. When Kitty rolled over in her sleep, it wasn't enough to wake up, and she ended up facing away from Kurt's bed anyway. The sky began to lighten before exhaustion claimed Kurt with such forced that he didn't even remember falling asleep, only waking up the next morning to pain and yelling.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> also one of my favorite chapter titles c:


	8. Finn: What About Kurt

Glee wouldn't start for two more periods, but Finn sat in the choir room anyway. Teachers had stopped dragging him to class and just called his mom a lot now instead. Neither way helped them much because the Hudsons were part of the Hummels, and the whole family was still trapped in the moment when they realized Kurt had been kidnapped by a man called Robin Banks. Finn would have laughed at the name if he weren't so busy crying and yelling and staring at darkened ceilings instead of sleeping at night.

He had his laptop open but didn't bother with homework. Rachel kept bugging him about that, but Finn couldn't remember why it mattered. His brother—even if they'd never yet been brothers they would have eventually—was gone. And worse than dead.

Finally, there was something new on Banks. Even though Finn didn't find any mention of Kurt in the summary, he hit "play" and watched the news story. The reporters made a stupid intro followed by a cut to an otherwise pretty girl with an ugly red slash down the side of her face. The name Annette Sherwood appeared in white letters on the bottom of the screen.

She talked about Banks in vague words that made her cry. When asked why she would want to go on camera even though it hurt her so much, Annette smiled.

"I just want to help him. Alex did everything he could to keep me from giving up, and then he helped me escape even though he couldn't get away himself."

She kept talking about Alex, but the only words Finn's mind had room for were, _What about Kurt?_ She should have been talking about him, not some Alex guy. Maybe Banks had more than one place to keep his victims, and he moved between them so some of those he kidnapped never met even though he had them at the same time. Or Kurt could have been locked in the trunk; no, Banks had the Sherwood girl too long for that. Kurt could have told them his name was Alex to protect his father from Banks, but no again. Banks knew who Kurt was before taking him. Banks always knew who they were. The others had been girls, but Kurt kind of looked like a girl, and all the other parts of Banks' pattern were the same. And now maybe Banks was into dudes since this Alex was a guy too.

Finn went back to the beginning and rewatched the video just in case. People called him stupid a lot because he missed things, so he'd make sure not to miss anything here. Maybe she had mentioned Kurt, but he'd been to dumb or distracted to notice. But no, Finn didn't find anything new. So he tried again.

By the time the other glee kids filed into the choir room, Finn still hadn't found any mention of Kurt. He wasn't ready to give up, even though he knew it'd probably be better for Kurt if he were already dead. So he showed the others while they waited for Mr. Schue. They were all really quiet after the video ended. Puck stood up and left, but the others seemed like they couldn't move.

When Mr. Schue put his hand on the quarterback's shoulder and asked what was wrong, Finn realized two things: their teacher was here, and their male lead was crying.

"There was supposed to be something about Kurt." Even in his own ears, Finn's voice sounded small.

Rachel rubbed circles on his back and leaned her head against his shoulder. Finn put his arm around her; it felt nice to hold onto someone.

"Just because we don't know anything new now doesn't mean we won't in the future, okay Finn?" Schuester's hand squeezed his student's shoulder before he moved to the head of the class. "Okay, guys, I—Where's Puck?"

Finn just shrugged, but Rachel answered, "He left after watching the news story about Banks." She seemed about to say more but didn't.

Mr. Schue looked torn between starting a glee lesson and going after Puck, so Finn stood up. "I'll find him," he said, even though he didn't want to move at all. He barreled out of the room before anyone—himself included—could stop him.

Even though Finn and Puck used to be best friends, they hadn't even been on speaking terms for a long time. Sometimes Finn missed his friend, but then he remembered that Puck had knocked up Quinn while Finn was dating her. Then he just wanted to start kicking chairs and yelling at people again. It didn't help at all when Puck claimed Finn should be grateful for the burden Puck took from him. And that part was even worse when Finn thought that maybe he had been a little relieved not to have to deal with it. But mostly he'd just been angry and sad. He thought he had a daughter, but all he ended up with was a cheating ex-girlfriend and a sleazy ex-friend.

Puck hadn't gone far when he left the choir room. He glanced up at Finn as the taller boy approached and tried to hide the pocketknife he'd been playing with. The look on his face reminded Finn of the way Puck had looked the day he realized his dad would never have time for him, hurt and angry. Finn wondered what the knife was for.

"I thought you were over it." Finn didn't see much reason to be nice since Puck was such an asshole.

The other teen shrugged.

"You don't look over anything. Mostly you just look like you want to hide."

Puck scowled at that and gave Finn the finger.

"Why does it bother you so much?"

Even though he didn't answer, Puck's jaw worked like he was trying to force words out. He turned his eyes away from Finn to stare at the floor.

They sat for a while. Finn couldn't think of anything he hadn't already said, and Puck never said much of anything to Finn anymore. It startled the quarterback when the other boy finally said, "Did you see the scar he gave her?"

Finn didn't know a nice way of saying he couldn't possibly have missed it, so he nodded silently.

"It matched his. How do you think he got it?"

"Why the hell does that matter?" Finn frowned. This was supposed to be about Kurt. It all was, but no one seemed to want to talk about him anymore.

Puck flinched but kept on. "He usually saves that for last. For a lot of them, it's after they're dead." They were quiet again because Finn didn't know how to respond to that. "I wonder sometimes," Puck continued, turning his face away from Finn entirely. "If he wanted to be quick with Kurt or take his time. He does both, you know. Quick would be nicer for Kurt, but… Did you know McDougal and Garcia worked for Banks? Kurt was all over the news for killing Wayne Garcia, and I kinda think that's why Banks picked him."

None of that had anything to do with the hard, dark place that had opened up inside of Finn after Kurt was taken. He'd sort of imagined a similar place in Puck's chest somewhere, but none of those were words that said Puck was hurting. They just said Puck had been looking into Banks. A lot. But they didn't say why, and Finn felt like that shouldn't even have to be a question anymore. So why did he want to ask it of Puck?

"Dude," Finn said, and even though it was a casual word, he made his voice as hard and sharp as he knew how. "Do you even care that Kurt's gone? Like do you _feel_ it?"

"What?"

"Sometimes I seriously think you're some crazy robot man, or maybe like you got your soul ripped out or something. Because I know you were angry before, but now you're just kind of cool about it all. I'll bet you've got a neatly labeled file on your computer at home called "Banks" right next to the spot where you don't care enough to label one "Kurt" or "Heart I'd've Had if I weren't a Fucking Psycho."

"What the hell is wrong with you, Finn?"

"Nothing!" Finn shook his head. "Everything. We were supposed to be a family, but then Kurt got taken away and all we are now is more broken than before when it was just Mom and me." His hand clenched into a fist, but he didn't raise it. Not yet. "So what the hell is wrong with _you_?"

"Nothing that hasn't been from the start. And I'm not cool about stuff... I just… I try not to let it out because I'm sick of people trying to talk about my feelings. It's all bullshit anyway, man."

Puck's voice was so bitter over the last part that Finn hesitated. "Would you really kill him, if you had a chance?"

"Fuck yeah." Puck scowled. "And then I'd cut up what was left of him to match the pretty little things he likes to leave in a trail behind him."

Picturing that made Finn feel kind of sick, so he tried not to. He couldn't think of anything more to say to Puck, so he just motioned back toward the choir room and went to rejoin the rest of glee club. Puck followed, running his fingers over his pocketknife when he thought Finn wasn't looking.


	9. Kurt: Make Him

After Annette escaped, Robin got them the hell out of town so fast that Kurt realized they hadn't _really_ been on the run before. But now the girl could give police an idea of where they were and where they had been. Kurt found himself in a big city for the first time since being kidnapped. It was noisy and smelly, and a homeless man seemed to live outside their motel. Everyone called him Friar Tuck. Kurt leveled a carefully judgmental stare at Robin when he first heard it, but Rob just shrugged and grinned.

Maybe he found Kurt's expression funny. It was surprisingly difficult to look superior with two black eyes and a swollen jaw. The little bit of blood crusted to the edge of one nostril certainly didn't help either.

"What are those?" Kurt asked too shrilly, staring at the solid black garments Kitty had set on the corner of his bed where they wouldn't lie in blood or cum.

"Clothes—what do they look like?" Rob sat across the room cleaning his gun.

"Like cleaning rags. I assume you expect me to wear them?" He sneered a little to make up for the way his voice hitched earlier.

Robin stared at them for a moment, then shrugged. "Cleaning rags are white, but otherwise you've got it, princess." The civility of his voice bothered Kurt. He shouldn't get to switch between some horrible monster and some indifferent gentleman at will. It wasn't fair.

"Cleaning rags are any color you want," Kurt said as he poked the garments. "The only requirement is that they aren't worth wearing."

Kitty chuckled. "These aren't up to your standards then, Alex?"

"Certainly not." He huffed indignantly.

"Clothes are clothes. Get dressed and wash your face." Rob finished with his gun and loaded it.

"Oh, please. I'll explain through an example you Neanderthals may understand. Pretend it's food. I crave lobster from a five star restaurant, and you've just given me tree bark and said it amounts to about the same thing in the end."

"You're exaggerating. This is like a cheeseburger, which you've already proven you can handle despite your ridiculously gourmet tastes." Rob smiled darkly. "So get your pretty little ass into your new clothes before I have to make you."

Kurt never considered giving Robin a reason to "make him" for long. He stripped and decided he could get away with a small request, "Can I shower first?" What he wanted was a long soak in a tub with lavender bath salts, but that seemed unlikely. If Rob agreed to it at all, he'd show up with bubblegum-scented bubble bath and give Kurt about ten minutes at most. A life of crime lacked a certain civility Kurt had come to expect from life.

"Sure, if I can fuck you first." The offhand answer caught Kurt by surprise, and he just stared blankly. He wanted the shower but couldn't agree to that. Rob would screw him anyway, but that would be… giving consent.

Kurt found something to say before Rob had walked across the room. "You realize I'm plenty dirty to warrant a shower without your adding to it?" He crossed his arms across his bare chest and tried not to shiver as the tall, menacing man stepped up to him.

"Robin," Kitty sounded strangely hesitant. "We need to move out. There ain't time for both, just one. Maybe."

He cocked his head as he considered. "Clean up, Alex, you reek."

Kurt scrambled to the shower before anyone could change their mind. He turned on the water and jumped in as Rob told his girlfriend to watch Kurt. He squealed at the cold but knew they wouldn't give him time to let it warm first. And fuck, but it felt amazing anyway.

The water beat rhythmically on his skin—lower pressure than he liked, but Kurt couldn't quite bring himself to care. It warmed quickly as he scrubbed his skin with some soap Kitty had left in there. He knew it was hers because Robbie never used anything he could describe as "girlie," and this was clearly rose-scented. He found a sample bottle of shampoo and lathered that into his hair. If Kurt believed in heaven, he'd see it as having his hair washed.

Kitty giggled at the way he carefully arranged his hair after stepping out of the shower, but she didn't rush him or tell Robin. Once he looked as decent as he could with a bruised face, Kurt walked slowly back to his bed and pulled on the new clothes. They fit well enough since Rob had asked for his size before buying them—probably from Target, the thought of which made him groan.

"Do I get sunglasses?" he asked as he pulled on one of the lightweight gloves.

"Why the fuck would you need sunglasses?" Rob looked up from packing his bag. Kurt just pointed at his face until the man rolled his eyes. "Hell, whatever. We'll stop at a gas station for a pair."

Kurt groaned again, loudly.

"We could blindfold you instead," Rob threatened, but Kurt didn't bat an eye.

"I think people would notice that, hun."

Robin scowled and zipped his bag closed. Once Kurt had worked up the nerve to try, he found Rob let him get away with rather a lot. Much more than he had let Annette, but definitely less than Kitty since she got a gun.

Neither captor told Kurt where they were going when they bundled him into an obviously stolen car. But he did get to pick his own sunglasses before climbing into a different car they just took from the gas station parking lot. Then they tied his hands together in front of him and told him not to move. Kurt shrugged and went to sleep.

He woke up naked, but that was hardly surprising. Kitty's big brown eyes and the slick finger that found its way inside him just after he opened his eyes were, but mostly because he was used to Robbie. Most surprising of all, his hands were free. Kurt turned when he heard Rob clear his throat to find the man beside the bed aiming a gun at Kurt.

It felt weird having Kitty's finger inside him. It didn't hurt, but it didn't feel all that good either. What the finger did feel was small. The only thing he'd ever had shoved in there was Robin's dick, and Kurt only wished it were the size of a woman's index finger. Or even two of them, he amended when Kitty added a second.

Why had they bothered to wait until he opened his eyes? This would definitely have woken him anyway, especially when her fingertips brushed against a place inside him that felt fucking good instead of just plain fucked.

It sort of ruined the mood when she smirked and said in a low, sultry voice, "See, Rob, I told you so." Kurt wasn't sure what she'd told him, but it was definitely annoying that she was there just to prove a point—and that Kurt had proven it for her. Plus, she'd made him remember that the fingers inside him belonged to a woman, and that was just a turn-off no matter what else was going on.

"Fun as this is, what the hell is happening right about now?" Kurt asked, and almost winced to realize he was slightly out of breath. Instead he leveled a careful gaze at Robin and pretended to ignore the gun.

Rob laughed. "Kitty thinks you'll be nicer if it hurts less. I think she's adorable, don't you?"

"Yeah, I'm not really sure what any of that—oh fuck." Kitty had hit the spot again. This time Kurt _did_ wince. He didn't want to give Rob ammunition against him, which mostly meant Kurt needed to learn to keep his cool.

"Yeah, princess, me neither. See, I think you'll be nicer if it hurts _more._ "

"That," Kurt said with eyebrow immaculately raised despite his uneven breathing and general awkwardness, "Is because you're a bucket of sunshine."

"Aren't I just?" He stared at Kitty for a moment with a look of utter boredom that almost matched Finn's in math class. "Hit him for me, will you, Kitty?"

She jerked in what could only be shock. "But, Robin…" The woman had stopped moving her fingers, and Kurt took the opportunity to slide himself off of them.

Robin sighed. "Come here, Kitty." He clicked his tongue like he was calling an animal.

Scowling, Kitty climbed off the bed and walked over to him with her hips swaying exaggeratedly. When she reached him, Robin smacked her the way he usually did Kurt. As the man's eyes met Kitty's, Kurt dashed from the bed to the door. They had a gun, and he had no clothes, but it was the closest to a chance he'd had since… since the first night when Rob had caught him in the neighbor's yard.

He actually got the door open before the gunshot sounded. But nothing hurt, so he kept running and realized as he leapt passed some seriously freaked out women into the stairwell that Robin's shot had missed. If he weren't otherwise occupied, Kurt would have wondered why.

Even with no idea where he was going, Kurt believed he could find a way outside, especially since he'd already found the stairwell. He wasn't sure what to do after that—get himself arrested for indecent exposure, maybe.

It didn't much matter since someone tackled him and muttered that "Princess Alex" obviously needed a lesson in "court etiquette." There was probably something witty Kurt could have said to that, but nothing came to mind. He could only scream and lash out as Rob dragged him back to their room, now growling about having to be quick.

The tall man slammed Kurt against the room's ugly little desk, driving the air from the boy's lungs. Both of his hands stayed on the countertenor's body, but Kurt heard the man's zipper slide down anyway. He screamed something incoherent as Rob slammed into him, not even bothering with lube this time. It would have been worse but for whatever Kitty had been playing at. Kurt was vaguely proud of himself for having the presence of mind to realize that.

Then something cold and sharp bit into the skin of his back, and deep, searing pain replaced all else. The pain became rhythmic, blade biting the flesh of his back in time with Robin's thrusts into the boy's hole. It felt almost like he was trying to paint a picture of red line and blood the way he moved the cold metal through and between each cut.

When Robin finally came, he slashed his knife forward so it connected with Kurt's jaw just below the ear and slid along his neck and down his back until the man's orgasm reached its end. Kurt sobbed. When Rob moved away from him, the boy collapsed on the floor and wished the world would wink out, or maybe that he would, or at least that it just wouldn't hurt so much anymore. More than anything else, he wanted to go home and hug his father, or maybe for Rob's skin to peel away and be replaced by swarming, stinging wasps.


	10. Sally: Bad Things

The scary man carried Sally over his shoulder. She tried to scream, but the gag in her mouth stifled it into little more than a moan. It was enough noise for the scary man to spank her again, so she squirmed. He wouldn't let go. Then she was swinging down, the world suddenly reorienting itself to right-side-up. The scary man shoved her into the backseat of a car and tied her hands to the handle above the door—"oh shit handles" she'd heard her older sister call them when she didn't know Sally was listening. He slammed the door in Sally's face after he pulled the gag out and then got into the front passenger seat.

There were two other people in the car. A woman dressed in red sat at the wheel, pursing thick lips that Sally knew her sister would kill for. She started the car and drove them away from Sally's home and family. The other person was tied up the same as Sally. At first, she thought it was a girl with big, sad, blue eyes. Then she realized it was a boy, but he was still prettier than any of the girls Sally knew. He had the kind of face you only see on TV, and Sally bet he would be even prettier if he weren't glaring at the scary man hard enough that most people could probably have died of it.

Sally wasn't a little girl—she'd be thirteen in twenty-six days—but people liked to treat her as one. Grown-ups were supposed to take care of kids. They would smile and tell her everything would be okay even when Sally could tell it wouldn't. Like when her mama left home in the car after finishing a bottle of wine she'd only just opened that night. She slammed the car against a tree hard enough to shoot herself through the windshield. Papa told Sally in the hospital that everything would be alright and Mama would come home. Mama died, but Sally had only been ten years old then. And grown-ups were supposed to comfort kids with soft little lies.

Usually, Sally would have assumed someone older—and this boy had to be _at least_ fifteen—would assume Sally herself was just a little girl in need of help and comfort. This boy, though, all but ignored her to make faces at the man in the front seat. Sally knew he was supposed to either treat her wrong so she could correct him, or indulge his fears to her so they could bond over their shared plight. In the movies, the two of them would fall in love, and he wouldn't care that she was younger because she was _emotionally_ a woman. As kidnappings go, this one was rather droll.

There were two other times Sally had been kidnapped, both for ransom. Her papa was filthy rich, so it only made sense. No one ever kidnapped her older sister, but then, her older sister never wandered through the grounds alone after dark. So maybe Sally was asking for it. And maybe Sally hoped this pretty, pretty boy would stop glaring at the scary man so she could woo him.

No one spoke, and Sally realized she would have to take the initiative. She parted her lips ever so slightly and looked through her eyelashes at the boy. "I'm Sally, who are you?" It came out small and weak and so, so perfect for the situation. At least one of them knew how to act.

The boy looked surprised, which seemed rather silly to Sally. "Why?"

Sally thought she heard a muffled laugh from the front seat but chose to ignore it. At least the boy had stopped glaring. He definitely looked prettier with his features softened. "Because you don't seem much like a kidnapper." She gazed pointedly at his tied hands before wiggling her own.

"I'm…" He glanced at the front of the car, then back at Sally. "Call me Alex."

She smiled ever so slightly in a way that would let her face still look sad. "Alex, does he want money from your papa too?"

He shook his head, but Sally couldn't read his expression. Mostly it looked sad, but there was something else. Something that reminded her of the look in her papa's eyes when he made jokes about drunk driving even though that was how her mama died. "Robin doesn't want anything from my dad."

"Then why are you here?" She forgot to make her voice coy and flirty that time, but that was okay. She knew that over the course of their time together, Alex would slowly see more and more of her inner self. So this was essentially a preview, or foreshadowing, or the first tidbit of the more forward side of her personality. Or something.

The boy shrugged as best he could with his arms stuck above his head. "He wants something from me instead."

"Why? Are _you_ rich?"

Alex laughed before he answered, and that made the scary man glare at him. "Oh, no, Sally. It's not anything like that."

Sally tried to think for a moment what else someone could be kidnapped for, but all she had were vague notions of Bad Things. "Then… then like what, Alex?"

His face got hard again, and Sally knew she had asked too many questions. "Doesn't matter. I won't give it."

Sally didn't talk again while they were in the car because it seemed like a time to be quiet. Even theatricality called for a tangibly thick silence in the darkness of the car. She tried to chew on it but only got a hold of her lower lip.

The woman at the wheel stopped the car outside a dingy motel that looked like someplace you would take a hooker. Sally wasn't terribly surprised. The others had taken her to similarly pathetic places. If kidnappers had money for a palace made of crystal, then they wouldn't have much use for Sally or ransom notes. So she also wasn't surprised when Robin untied her and dragged her into a room near the corner of the building.

It did surprise her that after the woman untied him, Alex walked in on his own.

"Bed," Robin growled at the gorgeous boy, tying Sally to a radiator after checking that it was firmly attached to the wall. He bound her with her arms behind her back so she faced outward at the rest of the room. She watched as Alex sat gingerly on the edge of one of two beds in the room. He should have been gazing at Sally, or at least staring fearfully at Robin, but Alex just stared dully at the floor.

When the scary man turned to advance on Alex in the way even Sally knew only a man sure of his own power could, she knew what was coming. She had never focused on the sort of bad things people could do to her or anyone else because she had always avoided them. People didn't want to hurt her; they wanted her papa to take her back.

She didn't think Alex had the same advantage. When Robin smiled at the way Alex flinched at his touch, Sally understood what the man wanted from him. She didn't feel so grown up anymore. Mostly, she just felt scared.

Alex didn't fight back much when Robin took off his clothes. He glanced at Sally for a moment before losing his pants, but Robin didn't seem to notice or care. Seeing his penis made Alex seem older to Sally. Because you could only show something like that if you were eighteen or married. Everyone knew that. And some part of Sally knew that wasn't true.

Robin unzipped his pants and pulled himself out. His penis was different from Alex's: big and hard and scary where Alex's was as limp as the rest of his body, lying on the bed like someone waiting for a nightmare. The man didn't bother to finish undressing himself. He pulled a bottle of something out of the nightstand and spread it over himself. The only warning he gave Alex before penetrating him was grabbing the boy ankles and dragging him so his legs wrapped around the older man.

Then Alex screamed. Robin thrust forward and back, still holding onto the boy's legs. Sally tried to close her ears, but only her vision went black. She listened to the sound of their bodies slapping together, to Alex's whimpers and moans, and finally to Robin's deceptively soft gasp. The mattress creaked with the weight of a dropping body, and Sally opened her eyes again.

Alex was facing her now, staring at a brown spot on the wall. Behind him, Robin reclined against the headboard, a small smile twisting his face. He looked scarier than before. Sally promised God that she would never wander around alone at night or giggle at naughty words when her friends came over for a sleepover again if he would save her from what had just happened to Alex.

"Well, girlie, how did you like that show?" Robin grinned and looked at Sally when he spoke. Her mouth was too dry and her brain too shocked to say anything, but he didn't seem to expect more out of her. He threw his head back and laughed. Alex, she noticed, looked worried. He also looked like he was about to cry. "Don't worry, hun, it's your turn now." He made it halfway to standing before Alex sat up, revealing a tangle of scabbed-over slashes on his back, and laughed.

"What, Rob, is that your attempt to de-gay yourself? 'Cause, sweetheart, the first person you banged wasn't your girlfriend; it was your boy toy."

Robin growled and leaned over the bed so he could wrap a big hand around Alex's neck. "I'm sick of your attitude, princess. Stop talking to me like that."

"Why?" Alex looked about to pee himself, but he kept talking. "Girls are easy enough to replace, but a pretty little thing like me? You don't find those in every hick town you pass through." He wrapped his legs around Robin's waist and almost managed to look coy.

It hit Sally that Alex hadn't just gone insane. He was protecting her. She didn't think she could be more grateful to him if he'd taken a bullet for her. And when she watched Robin swell to press against Alex's butt, she knew it had worked. In the time between Robin entering the small boy again and that strange, soft sigh he let out at the end, Sally realized Alex was also right. Robin wanted the boy more than he did either of the girls.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was actually the first chapter of By Any Other Name that I wrote. I knew it wouldn't be the first in the story, but it helped to start the story after knowing I wanted it to reach this. I'm currently 70+ chapters into the story, and this is the only OC POV I've ever written for it, so don't worry about them becoming a thing.


	11. Kurt: Except He Knew

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song: Elton John's "I'm Still Standing." It has a silly music video; or maybe it's just really British and I need a translator. I spent forever trying to figure out what song I wanted Kurt to sing here. Another major contender for it is so perfectly amazing that I'm saving it for later because I didn't want to cut either of them. :)

Motherfucker. Cocksucker. Fuckface. Bastard. Bitch. Whore. Slut.

Kurt pounded the back of his head against the wall, but not nearly hard enough to make up for what a fucked-up little asshole he'd been. Even when he told himself it _had_ been a good idea at the time, Kurt couldn't get over what he'd done. He'd given Robin his permission. Fuck, he'd _begged_ the man to screw him. Kurt felt dirty, slicked over with shit to make him nice and smooth for the sick bastard he'd now given himself to.

At least Sally made it out okay. Her dad paid the ransom, and she left wide-eyed and scared but otherwise unharmed. For some reason, Rob had thought he should use some of the ransom money to buy Kurt lavender bath salts. It made about as much sense to Kurt as trying to get a glass of water by wiggling your ears, but he didn't complain. Nothing that had happened recently made Kurt feel he deserved it, but Robbie let him take long, quiet baths now.

Bathing alternated between relaxing and infuriating depending on the course of Kurt's thoughts. That could have been the reason he showered before, and then only if he did so quickly. The extra time to think without discomfort or pain to distract him led his mind in dangerous circles. He couldn't figure out what had changed—

Except he knew, didn't he? That he had given himself to—

That fuckhead actually left Kurt alone in the bathroom. Oh, he or Kitty sat right outside, waiting, listening, but they let him bathe without anyone watching. It almost felt like peace, except for the gun that would watch him dress when he climbed out of the water.

He had yet to determine if Robbie and Kitty liked it when he sang. That was probably for the best—he sang for himself, not for them. Well, fuck them, who cares? He tested a note in the damp air. It echoed back to him softly. Not the best acoustics, but certainly not the worst he'd worked with. Kurt wanted to try something more upbeat than he felt, something that sounded like hope.

_You could never know what it's like  
Your blood like winter freezes just like ice  
And there's a cold lonely light that shines from you  
You'll wind up like the wreck you hide behind that mask you use_

_And did you think this fool could never win  
Well look at me, I'ma coming back again  
I got a taste of love in a simple way  
And if you need to know while I'm still standing you just fade away  
_

Maybe, sometimes, he did sing a little bit for Robin. Not _for_ Robin, no. For Kurt, but still hoping Rob would hear. Because Kurt hadn't agreed to anything after Sally was safely away. He fought back again. Kurt's lips grinned around the lyrics as he imagined the row of tooth marks on his captor's neck. No way the man would forget _that_ anytime soon.

_Don't you know I'm still standing better than I ever did  
Looking like a true survivor, feeling like a little kid  
I'm still standing after all this time  
Picking up the pieces of my life without you on my mind_

A knock at the door told him it was time to get the hell out already. Or maybe just that someone didn't want to listen to him sing any longer. While he changed into his cheap, dark clothing, Kitty watched him, alone except for the gun in her hands.

"Hey, Alex," she said as he fussed with the only scarf he'd convinced them to buy him. He stopped and looked at her but saw no reason for a more specific reply. "I got a deal for you, wanna hear me out?"

"Look, hun, I'm only interested if it gets me either away or into a designer pair of boots." There were fucking Wal-Mart-bought sneakers waiting for him by the door. They looked like troll snot and felt remarkably like Karofsky's fist in his face, only on his feet.

She shrugged. "You're full of shit, kid. Look, Robin's a jackass, and I hate putting up with his temper."

Kurt nodded in agreement when she paused. The man's temper usually led to pretty girls being beaten, raped, and murdered. Kurt wouldn't want to deal with it either if he had a choice.

"But he's still my sweetie," she continued, "So I ain't leaving. Problem is: he'd shoot me quick as he would a duck if I lost you." She stopped a moment with her head cocked when someone shuffled by the room outside and continued when they'd passed. "Your part of the deal is simple: just make sure I'm not the one in charge when you run for it. Me in charge is basically like now because if Rob's around, he's definitely running things, got it?"

Kurt nodded and wondered if Kitty was insane. It'd be easier to run with Robin away. The thought made him wonder if he should try it now. But she still had that gun pointed straight at him.

"When Rob brought you in, you were carrying a knife, but I'll bet you couldn't use that any more effectively than you could your fists, am I right?"

"No more technique, true, but it was certainly sharper. That helped somewhat."

She frowned. " _Not-enough-_ what." Sometimes Kitty had the strangest way of talking. "I'll teach you a little. Probably too little to let you get away because that'd be suicide for me, but enough to make you feel a bit better about your chances. At least if Robin leaves you with someone else." She waited for a moment and spoke again when Kurt didn't say anything. "Well, what do you think?"

Kurt put a hand on his hip and tried to ooze confidence even though he mostly just wanted to run for it. "I think: how are you going to teach me anything when we can't be within three feet of each other for risk of you losing that metal thing you have to point at me constantly anyway?"

"I wouldn't have it on me or within reach when we're practicing, airhead." She rolled her eyes. "If you aren't going to try and escape, then this," and she waved the thing about like a toy, "is unnecessary."

"And you, what, think I'm a man of my word?" This was stupid. He should just agree, wait until she put the gun away, and make a run for it.

"A little boy prone to lies and tricks, actually. Don't worry about me so much. I've got it covered." She smiled, and Kurt supposed she meant it to be mysterious.

That could only mean Kitty wasn't actually the only one watching him. And _that_ could mean either Robbie was just pretending to leave them alone, or they had a third accomplice who hadn't shown his or her face to Kurt yet for whatever reason. If this were a crime drama, it'd be because the countertenor knew them personally.

Or, wait, one more. It could mean Kitty was bluffing. But the only bluff he'd known them to pull so far had actually been more of a trick, convincing Kurt he had a chance to escape on that first night away from Lima.

That night Rob had told Kurt that he'd thought of everything before. And he also seemed to remember every bitchy comment Kurt made—because how else would he have known to get the bath salts? Kurt whined _once_ that he wanted a decent bath. So how much else did Robin remember? How much had Kurt said without thinking about it?

And if the bastard remembered every little thing, why hadn't he used those big fancy dollars on a pair of shoes that didn't make Kurt want to hurl? Or the Marc Jacobs jacket he had pointed out to Kitty the last time they let him near her laptop?

"Fine." The worst she'd do if she caught him trying to escape would be hit him and stop with whatever lessons she thought she'd give him. If anyone were going to kill him, Kurt knew it'd be Rob, not Kitty, and not her hypothetical bluff of an accomplice.

She grinned and told him to get back in the bathroom. He groaned and went to sit on the toilet lid. Just before he decided to start singing again to pass the time, another knock on the door summoned him out.

The room looked exactly the same except that Kitty didn't have a firearm anymore. So maybe she'd been serious about this.

"Okay, Alex. First, I want to see what sort of shape you're in. Why don't we start simple, like… give me some push-ups. I'll count; you just concentrate on doing 'em."

"Seriously?"

She nodded and pointed at the floor, frowning. Kurt groaned. He'd already passed Freshmen P.E. This was supposed to be behind him. Like she said, he didn't bother counting, not that the number would have been all that impressive if he had.

Kitty kept forcing Kurt into flashbacks—physical education was pretty much guaranteed to be miserable for small gay boys, even if he hadn't been out at that point. She called him names and even made him do jumping jacks. Kurt couldn't figure out how that was supposed to help, but maybe she just thought it'd be funny.

By the time Rob returned a few hours later, Kurt was exhausted. He didn't even have the energy to kick at Robin when he told Kurt he was horny and tore at the boy's clothes. Maybe _that_ had been Kitty's goal all along. Robbie certainly seemed to like it when Kurt didn't fight.

To make up for it, Kurt called him "Robbie" out loud and asked him if he'd forgotten what to do when the man stopped long enough to smack Kurt for it. It hurt, but in a smug way.


	12. Puck: Could Have Been

Puck couldn't decide if it hurt because he was just _that_ hard or because it was sinful and stuff to get off on this sort of thing. He palmed himself through his jeans for a moment longer before deciding he needed to be out. Now. His fingers fumbled over the zipper in haste, but it wasn't long before he freed his cock.

"Oh, thank God," he moaned.

It did sort of bother him to sit at home alone watching porn, but some things you just didn't share with girls. Not even girls like Santana, who may have been into this sort of shit for all he knew. But the point here was he didn't know, and he definitely didn't want to risk her thinking him a sick freak, especially since he'd never tried it before. But… well, damn. This was hot. Maybe he _was_ a freak.

The speakers on his laptop kind of sucked, but he could still hear the high, pretty voice of a woman moaning and begging. That wasn't all that new, really. Except that usually the girls in the porn he watched begged for more. And he'd made fucking sure this was all fake before watching it, so he only felt a little bad that it turned him on when she begged for the man—a tall, muscular guy with a dick the size of fucking Africa—to please, please stop.

She was tied to the bed with leather straps, and the man used a knife almost as big as his cock to cut her clothes off. Not that she'd been wearing much to begin with, but whatever. It was porn, not high literary art shit.

When the man entered her, he hadn't touched her or lubed up, but he slid in a little too easily, and the woman's pain was a little too faked. Puck was glad they'd gotten her ready off-screen at some point, but… they could have hidden it better. He felt a little cheated.

It passed quickly because _Fuck_. The man put his weight on one hand and wrapped the other around the woman's pretty neck as he pumped mercilessly into her. She screamed. At first there were words, begging him to stop, to let her go, and asking why he was doing this—that hadn't really been explained, actually, but whatever: porn.

Then she moaned between screams. Words faded away. She climaxed twice by the time the man came. So did Puck.

He couldn't decide if they'd done right—since it was porn, not life—or if the woman should have been against it the whole time. Whatever. He got off on it, and that was what counted. Counted toward what, he didn't know, and probably didn't want to.

Next time, Puck decided, he'd look for something that used more toys. Maybe a leash. And fuck, but he just realized Santana would be hot as all hell with thigh-high leather stilettos and a whip. That sort of made him wonder which place he'd take in porn like this, but whatever. He'd switched positions with Santana a few times, and it was hot either way.

Then he thought of Quinn and winced. Maybe, if he was lucky, Santana was a freaky bitch and would love to try a few new things with Puck, but not Quinn. She was genuinely wholesome and sweet. Bitchy sometimes, but overall a good girl. She would run screaming if he even hinted at this. So had the woman in the video he just watched, but her getting over it had probably only been possible because there were actors and something like a script involved.

As he started cleaning up, his phone went off. Quinn. Just great.

"Hey," he answered trying not to sound guilty or weird or nervous.

"Where are you?" She sounded annoyed. He'd forgotten something. Crap.

"Where should I be?" Not at home watching porn, apparently.

She sighed into the phone. "At Ku—Finn's place. Sometimes, Puck, I really wonder about your brain. Are you drunk or maybe high again?"

Oh. That. "No." Everyone was going over to Kurt's place, which was now Finn's place too (again), to mope around and be there for each other emotionally. He'd forgotten mostly on purpose and had hoped no one would think to call him.

"Well, get over here. You're already late enough, so stop wasting time." She hung up before Puck could argue that he didn't want to get over there. She'd gotten pretty good at that—hanging up, stopping conversations before Puck had a chance to take control of them.

He decided to change his clothes rather than risk having missed a bit of cum. Then he figured he might as well look nice since his face sure as hell wouldn't, what with the way it'd already started scrunching up and glaring at things. Otherwise he looked hot, sure, but these glee kids had learned to look past his stunning good looks and the size of his arms. He wasn't quite sure how, but they'd managed it.

And as final proof that there was nothing wrong with his brain, Puck didn't grab a six pack on his way out. He only took a single and stashed it in the glove box just in case, though he did take a minute to wonder why his mom had gone back to buying Bud. Whatever.

Everyone glared at him when he showed up. Because he'd forgotten. Since he hadn't wanted to come at all, Puck knew he probably deserved it, but it still made him mad. He felt his face shifting into a sneer again. They all knew he wasn't into this sort of thing, so why did they get upset when he tried not to come?

"Oh, Puck, so kind of you to join us." Even though she'd been out of practice for a while, Quinn's bitch voice was still razor sharp. Then again, she'd been using it on Santana recently.

He shrugged and didn't look her in the eyes. He'd heard somewhere that you should never look a rabid animal in the eyes and figured it applied to rabid women too. "I'm sure you're honored and thrilled." He'd kept his dick voice as polished as Quinn did her bitch voice.

No. That wasn't what he wanted to do. It'd just make her even angrier at him. Then again, the only time she hooked up with him had been when he'd been a royal asshole. Puck would have groaned, but Quinn was talking again.

"Try to be civil. You're clearly some sort of sociopath, but a few people here are confused enough to think you have a heart." Puck winced, but Quinn kept going. "So just try to look sad and don't talk much. Say you're sorry a lot. I'll enjoy it, and it'll sound appropriate."

"Quinn, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to—"

She cut him off firmly. "Not bad. But you may want to keep your voice softer to make it sound more heartfelt."

"Baby, my heart's loud as—Shit, no. What I said before, it just slipped out. I really am sorry. And not a sociopath." He'd looked it up the last time someone called him that, and it didn't fit. Puck was a delinquent, a miscreant, a hoodlum, and sexy as hell, but not a sociopath.

The way Quinn blinked her eyes rapidly as she sighed and shook her head was strangely beautiful. "I know. It's just… you're hard to get along with sometimes. Easier to throw an insult and walk away unscathed."

"Wait," Puck scratched at his head. "I'm scathing when you _don't_ insult me? That makes as much sense as Finn in a gorilla suit. And, trust me, you'll only see that if one of you is high."

She smiled sadly. "It's harder to take when you aren't even trying to hurt me, that's all. Play nice tonight, okay. Everyone here wishes they could be family but can't quite manage it because none of us were before Kurt was taken away, and he's left a hole we can't fill now."

Puck nodded. "Some of us could have been, you know. Family." The word made him think of Beth.

"I know." She walked away.


	13. Kurt: What the Hell

After having been brutally raped by the man, it seemed odd to Kurt that he'd be weirded out when Robin poked his dick. The bank robber had never minded that Kurt wasn't hard for him before, so why now?

"Alex," Robin said, voice too soft for the coarse and calloused hand that suddenly gripped the boy's length, "Don't you like me?"

"Hell no, why should I?"

The searing pain that ran through him when Rob yanked ruthlessly on Kurt's still flaccid penis convinced the boy that maybe he should have been more diplomatic. A little.

"Most boys get excited just from having a hand on them, you know." He had returned to a soft petting that might have been nice if it weren't so creepy.

"I'm a higher-class kind of boy." Kurt made the sentence as haughty as he knew how, to make up for the lack of creativity. His mind was too tired to show much wit today.

"Which means either you'd only have a boner for the man you love, or only for a hand wrapped in a thousand dollar glove. Which is it?" Rob smirked, though Kurt couldn't have said why.

"Preferably the former, but if the glove had diamond studs on the cuffs and the promise of a second pair for my own hands, that might be enough, actually." Kurt tried on an answering smirk, and deepened it when the fit felt right.

Robbie laughed. "You are so damned adorable I don't even know what to do with you sometimes."

"Ooh, ooh, I know. You could buy me new shoes and get me home by eight." Kurt's voice was sarcastic, but he almost let himself hope Rob would just give up and do it.

"Tempting, but I think I'd rather screw you. By a thin margin, I admit."

"Well, what about the shoes?"

As answer, Robin slapped him. It was lighter a blow than usual; Kurt didn't even taste blood in his mouth. "Do you remember the way out of here?"

"What?" The countertenor didn't see what that had to do with anything.

Robin left Kurt long enough to fetch a sketchpad and pencil from his duffel. "If I untied you, could you draw the path from this room to the outside? To where we parked the car would be even better."

Kurt knew his mouth was hanging open, but he couldn't seem to close it or say anything. And try as he might, Kurt couldn't decide whether Rob wanted him to answer with 'yes' or 'no.'

While the countertenor stared slack-jawed, his captor loosed the bonds on his wrists. Once the boy was free, Robin nodded his head toward the sketchpad.

"Now, draw. The better it is, the less I'll hurt you after."

"Gee, Robbie," the threat brought Kurt back to himself. "You sure know how to bribe a boy, don't you?" But he grabbed the pencil and started drawing lines for the hallway outside the room before Rob could say anything else.

Kurt couldn't remember how far it was to the stairs, but he guessed, only to realize he couldn't remember how many flights they'd gone up. Whatever. He didn't have to draw each floor, just a box with lines to make it look kind of like stairs. The first floor had a lobby with some plastic trees and a bunch of chairs. He drew slanted lines for the front door and a grid for the parking lot. He couldn't remember which row the car was in, but he doubted his grid lined up right anyway. So Kurt picked a spot and drew a circle a little too big so that Rob wouldn't know which parking space Kurt meant it to cover.

Only after he finished drawing did Kurt realize Robin had been drawing too. He tried to peek at the man's work, but Robin pulled Kurt's attempt over it.

"Shit, Alex. If I gave you a ruler, would you maybe draw a straight line? Or would they still swerve about like a drunk who just got kicked out of a bar?"

Kurt just stared at him. Of course the lines would be straighter with something to go by; why did Rob complain that they wiggled a little when he had to work freehand?

"How many doors between here," he pointed at Kurt's drawing to indicate their room, "and here?" Then he pointed at the stairs. When Kurt just shrugged, Robin backhanded him. "Answer, princess."

"Three?"

"Five. Why didn't you indicate what floor we're on?"

"Because I don't know." Kurt crossed his arms over his chest and glanced over to where Kitty sat with the ever-present gun.

"How the hell do you not know what floor you're on?" Robin growled the words from a place deep in his throat.

Kurt shivered. "I forgot how many flights we walked up. Why does it matter?"

Instead of answering, Rob growled again and showed Kurt the two drawings side-by-side. Robin's had clean, almost perfectly straight lines that made Kurt's look downright messy. The man had marked and labeled almost everything, and Kurt got the feeling that the estimated distances were pretty damn close to the actual ones. Robin had even made notations on some of the cars in the parking lot, including the one he'd driven in with. Kurt had no doubt he'd be able to find them based just on Rob's map.

He probably shouldn't have said anything, but Kurt had always talked too much. "I still don't understand why you want me to know this." He kept his voice small and soft and didn't look his captor in the eyes.

Rob decline to answer. The man pressed a soft kiss to the corner of Kurt's mouth before jerking him bodily to the headboard. Once he had Kurt secured, Robin positioned himself between the boy's legs.

"You'll know whatever I damn well please, Alex. And you'll learn to pay some fucking attention." He leaned over his prisoner and grinned in the same twisted way he had the first time Kurt saw him.

A small whimper broke through the countertenor's lips, though he tried to hold it back. The sound made Robbie's grin widen as he slid a large hand up Kurt's chest to the boy's slender neck. He rubbed his thumb over the soft skin. It felt rough and scratchy to Kurt. Then Robin wrapped his hand around the boy's neck. He could have squeezed but didn't, just held it there and stared at Kurt.

That creepy stare made Kurt want to squirm away. But he couldn't; he couldn't even bring himself to look away from the hard brown eyes gazing into his blue ones. He felt more trapped in that moment than he had since being taken.

When Kurt blinked, Rob looked away to grab the lube he'd set on the nightstand when they came in. The man squeezed it on his fingers instead of his cock. He pressed one into Kurt without even bothering to warm the lube. It was cold and sharp, and weird more because _what the hell was Robin doing_ than anything else. He opened Kurt slowly with his fingers, spreading them inside the boy in a way that could only be described as "gently." The word felt so foreign in Kurt's mind that he knew he'd never try it on his tongue. But he didn't complain.

It made him sick to think, but this actually felt kind of _nice._ Enjoying anything Rob did to him was definitely, absolutely, undeniably fucked up, but Kurt was not about to ask Robin to go back to hurting him.

Robbie even entered Kurt slowly, letting the boy adjust to being filled. Kurt tried to read his captor's expression but detected only the restraint it must have taken to pump so slowly into a body Rob was used to taking forceful possession of. He set a slower pace than usual and explored Kurt's body with his hands and mouth.

No one had ever touched Kurt like this before. He tried to stay annoyed, disinterested, hurt, victimized, whatever. But he couldn't stop it when his body reacted to caresses that almost felt loving. Robin even kissed him, though never full on the lips. When the man brought a hand to Kurt's cock, the countertenor decided he couldn't be blamed for responding. His hips jerked forward into the touch even though his mind told them to stay still.

Kurt groaned when he realized he was going to come. For the asshole who had kidnapped, raped, and threatened to murder him, no less. He managed to moan "Fuck" instead of anything Robbie could take nicely when it happened. The rapist finished soon after and went immediately to the bathroom to clean up. He ignored Kurt for the rest of the night, which was sort of awesome in a terrified, lost kind of way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I seriously had trouble writing the end of this because… Crap, that's just creepy. Why did I ever plan it? T.T I remember feeling weird over the beginning of the last chapter, but this is like a million times worse. You know that crawly feeling like there are bugs on you but there really aren't? That's how this chapter makes me feel.


	14. Puck: Dented

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song in this chapter: "The Stranger" by Billy Joel. I was staring at a few other Billy Joel songs for a slightly different place in Puck's arc. Then this song came on in my car (because OF COURSE it's on the CD I burned myself) and I realized Puck had to sing it.

Puck didn't much care that he was drunk. Well, no, he cared, just that was the way he wanted it. Honestly, Puck was sick of sober. It hurt even without a hangover, and all anyone said anymore was that they understood and missed Kurt too. Or that it was time to move on and had been for a while. After the first seventy-two hours, it wasn't likely he'd come home anymore. Seventy-two hours passed almost a month ago. It had been a long time. And hell, it hadn't been any time at all. Kurt could still be alive out there. Puck was definitely drunk right here in the choir room.

The jock crossed his arms and leaned back in his chair. Mr. Schue was talking about feelings again, but Puck had gotten pretty damn good at drowning him out. He rolled his eyes anyway because even if he hadn't caught the words, Puck got the tone and could have guessed the overall idea.

"Dude, what the hell is your problem?" Finn nudged Puck in the arm, but not enough to hurt or tip him over.

"Dunno, wasn't paying attention." Puck chewed at his bottom lip for a moment before he caught himself. Shit, he he'd broken that habit in fifth grade, or thought he had.

"That's just it, man." Finn stood up and towered over the seated teen. "You don't give a damn. The rest of us are struggling right in front of you, barely holding each other up, and you, you just sit there."

"Finn, I think it's best—" Schuester started, but Puck cut him off.

"No, let's go for it. You wanna cry on my shoulder like a fucking pussy, Finn? It's not bringing Kurt back. And maybe you've forgotten, but you could barely stand to be in the same room as the guy for fear he'd gay at you. You're probably better off with him gone. It's easier anyway."

"What the hell? That's not—"

"Admit it, Finn. The reason you're so Goddamned butt-hurt is that you were a little relieved for just a moment when you found out you'd never have to worry about Kurt's little crush on you again." Puck stood and shoved Finn back as he spoke. He was sick of putting up with everyone's shit.

"Back off, Puckerman." Sam actually tried to make his words threatening as he moved to stand beside Finn. When Puck made a move toward him, Sam didn't back down. He did try to talk Puck out of whatever the hell he expected his classmate of trying though. "I realize I barely knew Kurt, but he seemed like a nice guy. And these are your friends. You should support them even if you don't feel the same way."

"Really now? And has the nice-boy act gotten you laid yet?"

"Puck!" Quinn's voice was an octave or two too high to sound properly angry.

Mercedes took hold of the head cheerleader's hand and squeezed it lightly before turning on Puck. "Boy, you need to calm the hell down." When Puck only glared at her silently, she continued. "What, not gonna shout and push me around?"

"You and Asian chick were the only ones who actually liked Kurt." Puck shrugged.

"That's more than enough," Mr. Schue cut in. "Puck, everyone here was a friend to Kurt."

"I used to think you were too," Finn said to Puck.

"Finn, not now," Schuester continued. "Puck, I want to see you in my office, now. Now," he repeated when Puck didn't move.

Puck crossed his arms over his chest. As he walked toward the door, he asked, "Maybe we were friends to him once, but how many of us still are now?"

Not one that Puck could count. He'd argued and complained and tried to tell himself he was, but Puck gave up on Kurt as easily as the rest of them. Maybe more so.

Someone tackled him from behind even though Mr. Schue was _right there_. The string of curses from his attacker reached Puck in Finn's voice. It didn't surprise him.

A softer voice from his left did though. "Do you know what happens when you try to hide everything and cover it up?" Tina knelt down and leaned forward so Puck could see her face when she continued. "It blows up in your face. And you… are you drunk?"

"Hell yes. Why?" he had to grunt it out with Finn's weight still pressing him into the floor.

"Noah, you can't come to school drunk," Schuester sighed, and Puck imagined him rubbing the bridge of his nose.

"I didn't. I came to school sober and spent first period correcting that oversight."

Tina looked at him like he had a second head growing out of his mohawk. "You're an articulate drunk."

"An angry jerk-ass drunk too," Finn added as he eased off of Puck. "Always has been."

"So what, being drunk makes everything he's said magically all better?" Rachel's voice would be nicer if all she ever did with it was sing.

"Last time I saw Puck drunk, he told me something like eighty-seven reasons his mom deserved to be bludgeoned with a soup pot. When he got tired of that, he moved on to me, and his sister, and Rachel, and Santana, and Quinn, and himself. I'm pretty sure he was angry about his dad or something at the time."

"And that's, what, an insult your friends free card?" Sam frowned.

Quinn didn't bother kneeling as Tina had. "There was a time when I thought I knew you, Puck. But it's like some stranger came along and replaced you when I wasn't looking."

She looked ready to turn away, but Puck stood first. A stranger. That was more perfect than the queen bitch knew. When Puck went to retrieve his guitar, no one stopped him. He hadn't taken a solo in glee club since Kurt was kidnapped. The way everyone had been at him to sing fucking anything, they'd probably just stand by until he finished. He shortened the introduction and launched into singing with more force than he'd done anything in a while.

_Well, we all have a face  
That we hide away forever  
And we take them out and show ourselves  
When everyone has gone  
Some are satin some are steel  
Some are silk and some are leather  
They're the faces of the stranger  
But we love to try them on  
_

Sure enough, no one tried to stop him. Schuester actually looked a little relieved. Quinn looked taken aback. She moved to sit down again, and Puck turned to make sure she knew he meant the song for her more than anyone else. Though she turned her eyes away, Puck knew she could hear him.

_Well, we all fall in love  
But we disregard the danger  
Though we share so many secrets  
There are some we never tell  
Why were you so surprised  
That you never saw the stranger  
Did you ever let your lover see  
The stranger in yourself?  
_

_Don't be afraid to try again  
Everyone goes south  
Every now and then  
You've done it, why can't someone else?  
You should know by now  
You've been there yourself  
_

The last time Puck pulled out a Billy Joel tune, everyone joined in and had a little fun with him. This time they sat and stared like they didn't know who he was anymore. Well, that was the fucking point here, wasn't it? They thought everyone had to be the same, had to grieve the same, or they were lying or crazy. Well, Puck would deal with whatever the hell life wanted to throw at him in his own way. And maybe he'd come out dented, but at least he'd admit to it.

_You may never understand  
How the stranger is inspired  
But he isn't always evil  
And he is not always wrong  
Though you drown in good intentions  
You will never quench the fire  
You'll give in to your desire  
When the stranger comes along_

When he finished, Puck grabbed his bag and left them there. He didn't need them any more than they needed him. Puck didn't know how he'd get home, but whatever. Fuck, though, maybe he shouldn't have had so much to drink after all.


	15. Kurt: Reopening the Wounds

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song: Katy Perry's "Lost." I really, really don't like Katy Perry. But I'm pretty sure Kurt does. He wins since it's his story.

Kitty had hidden her gun again.

"You aren't in bad shape, actually," she said with arms crossed. "You were in some dance club thing right?"

"Glee club."

"Whatever. Anyway, you're stronger than you look, and we already know you can take a beating."

The woman seemed still to believe they had some sort of deal, which made sense when Kurt considered that he hadn't escaped on her watch yet. He shrugged in pseudo-answer to her comments and rubbed at his wrists. He couldn't quite tell if they had scarred yet because he kept reopening the wounds there. They tied him up every night. He struggled most of them.

"Today, you'll just work on blocking, 'kay Alex." The words might have been a question except that she obviously wasn't asking.

She arranged his arms in front of him and told Kurt to try and stop her from hitting him. It took a whole set of reflexes he had never even thought to develop. Kurt wanted to flinch, run, and smart-talk people who hit him. Choosing which part of his body—arm, not head—they would hit was… different. And he didn't feel strong enough to manage it except that Kitty was obviously going easy on him.

Easy or not, Kurt was exhausted after what couldn't have been more than an hour, two at the most. He wanted to collapse on the bed, but Kitty made him wait in the bathroom while she pulled her firearm from wherever she had hidden it. She tied Kurt up but still kept an eye on him while he tried to fall asleep.

The door woke him. It wasn't a loud sound, but Kurt slept lightly now. He opened his eyes in time to see Robin walk through followed by two men he didn't know. One was short and blond, the other burly and dark.

"Oh, good, the princess is awake." Robin hadn't actually spoken to Kurt since the night he… the night he had Kurt draw the map. Instead he relied on weird, directionless statements like this one. Otherwise, he acted like normal. Admittedly, normal for Robin Banks was psychopathic for most people, but Kurt saw no reason to bother with the scales of most people when they weren't the ones here.

"You didn't tell us he was so pretty," the blond one said with a lopsided grin.

"To be fair," his taller companion added, "He didn't hardly tell us anything. Like, can we play with him?"

"I thought about saying no, but no way you two could control yourselves." Robin scowled. "He answers to 'Alex.' That's his leash holding him to the bed, but we never got around to buying a collar. He'll probably talk back, and he sings a lot. Don't lose him."

"Aw, how sweet. Robin wuvs his new pet," the blond teased.

"Why would we lose him?" The other man said at the same time. "I like my head where it is, thanks."

Robin just rolled his eyes and left. Kitty followed.

The dark-haired man closed and locked the door. He even dragged the ugly, floral-patterned chair in front of it. Neither of them had drawn a gun, but Kurt knew they could just be waiting.

"So I'm Jace," the blond said suddenly, "And this is Todd. He's _my_ boyfriend, but I'm totally willing to share with a boy as pretty as yourself."

"And I'm willing to share with most anyone to be honest." Todd added as he walked over to join the smaller man.

"He's such a slut, my Todd."

"Oh, please, hun. You only pretend to have standards."

Jace nodded mock-solemnly. "True, true."

Kurt was pretty sure Kitty had slipped him some acid with his toast that morning but thought it best not to say so.

"Alex, you haven't said a word. What's up?" When Kurt answered with only a shrug, Jace continued, "I know, you should sing instead!" His face broke into a crooked grin again.

"The last guy who told me to sing is in jail right now."

"Yeah, but Pierce is a fucking pansy." Todd scoffed.

"Pansy. Isn't that like a flower or something?" Jace asked.

"I think it's a type of violet." Todd crossed his arms and furrowed his brows as if deep in thought. "But that doesn't explain the 'fucking pansy' at all. I'm pretty sure it's a flower that shoves itself up your butt."

"No, that's just _your_ butt, Todd. Mine is pansy proof."

Kurt stared at the two men like they'd gone insane. He was pretty sure they had, though at some point before he met them. "So Pierce is a flower that's been up your butt?" he asked Todd before he had a chance to shut himself up.

"Oh my God, you totally said that. Todd, you slut!" Jace play-slapped his lover and giggled exactly like a girl (if she had a deep voice). "If you wanted bottom, all you had to do was ask me."

"I did ask. You tied me up and went bowling with Kitty. Can I help it if there was an ugly Pierce-flower on the sheets?"

Kurt decided to start singing just to shut them up. He wished Kitty were there; she said weird things sometimes, but never this bad. No, he wished he were home with his dad, Finn, and Carol. He wished they were arguing over something stupid like dinner. Burt and Finn would want something fit to clog even the younger's arteries. Carol would secretly agree but side with Kurt anyway because she knew Burt needed to eat healthy. But Kurt couldn't be with them, so he would sing to the lightheartedly insane couple here instead.

_Caught in the eye of a hurricane  
Slowly waving goodbye like a pageant parade  
So sick of this town pulling me down  
My mother says I should come back home but  
Can't find the way cause the way is gone  
So if I pray am I just sending words into outer space  
_

Kurt didn't care if he'd started halfway through; he wasn't about to sing the whole song. It had worked to quiet the men watching him though. Singing with his arms bound over his head was awkward, but Kurt had practice. He sang at night when he couldn't sleep.

_Have you ever been so lost  
Known the way and still so lost  
Another night waiting for someone to take me home  
Have you ever been so lost_

_Is there a light  
Is there a light  
At the end of the road  
I'm pushing everyone away  
'Cause I can't feel this anymore  
Can't feel this anymore_

For a moment, the room stayed quiet after Kurt finished singing. Then Jace broke into another grin.

"You sang that _way_ better than Katy Perry ever could."

Todd's eyes widened, then narrowed dangerously. "You will not insult Katy Perry in my presence, swine."

"Come on, baby, she can't sing worth a half-pile of naked shit in a field of cotton candy."

"No, Jace. She is a goddess far more talented than you could ever dream to be. For particularly mortal definitions of 'goddess,' anyway."

"And particularly crappy definitions of 'talented.'"

"I will cut you, bitch."

Jace smirked. "Oh, baby, would you?" He moaned softly, and Kurt couldn't tell if the blond would enjoy being cut or just faked it well. The guy was clearly a lunatic, so it could have been either.

"Now that you ask, no. I could cut your bitchy self any night. But we have a special one-time chance with Rob's pretty princess." His soft smile fit the words poorly.

Jace bit his bottom lip. "True, true." He slid a surprisingly soft hand up Kurt's thigh.

The countertenor jerked away as best he could. "What kind of princess do you take me for? A proper princess only fucks a suitor after he buys dinner." It seemed the sort of crazy shit these guys would eat up.

"You're right! How could I forget?" Jace jerked his hand away and even pretended to look shamed—the poorly-stifled grin gave it away.

"What about for two men?" Todd asked as he leaned over Kurt suggestively.

"Usually I'd say two dinners, but I get the feeling you mean at the same time." When Todd nodded eagerly, Kurt continued. "Shoes. A true princess only agrees to a threesome in exchange for shoes."

Jace and Todd laughed openly.

"I will bring you shoes to match Dorothy's ruby red slippers, Princess Alex." Todd bowed deeply.

"And I'll get you a pair of neon-hued come-fuck-me boots." Jace patted Kurt's thigh. "Because they would distract from your come-fuck-me ass, which I'm sure Rob is tired of having other guys check out." He lifted Kurt's legs to get a better look. "Oh, yeah, definitely."

"In case you missed it, that's shoes _and_ dinner. I'm starving."

"Oh, please, I'm sure Robin only keeps you half-starved," Todd rolled his eyes but grabbed the phone and ordered a pizza.

Both men undressed immediately, though Todd spared a moment to pull some cash from his pocket and drop it on the nightstand. Then they played rock-paper-scissors, but no one had said what the winner would get. Todd won and moved to sit between Kurt's legs.

"Oh, really now, baby? Don't you love _me_ anymore?" Jace asked, mock-pouting.

"Of course I do, but I'm also going to make sure I'm the one Alex remembers fondly." He smirked. Then he moved his head down and ran his tongue along Kurt's length. Shit, Kurt had already had to deal with the raping that felt kind of okay; wasn't once enough? Though Rob hadn't used his tongue like that, and _holy fuck_ , but Todd knew what he was doing. Then he pulled back, and the trails of saliva turned cold as the cheap ceiling fan blew air on them.

"Now, Alex," Jace said as he lay down beside the boy on the bed. "Todd will blow you into incoherency either way, but will you play nice with us too?"

Kurt stared at him. He'd practically agreed to this, probably. He thought he maybe had. Whatever. Anyway, wasn't that playing nice enough for them?

"Okay, if I ever spend a night with you again, we're training in subtlety. For now: will you suck my cock while my baby does yours?"

"Oh." It was not an answer, but Kurt didn't have one. From the start Kurt knew that if Robin ever tried to shove anything tender in his mouth, Kurt would bite it as hard as he could. But Jace and Todd… Oh, shit. Kurt had just realized he thought of them as almost "nice guys," which was stupid because they were essentially less coarse versions of Rob. They wanted much the same thing from him—no, that wasn't quite true. They wanted a single night of dubiously consensual sex. Kurt still had only a vague idea what Robin wanted from him.

"If it helps, we won't tell Rob," Jace offered.

Kurt shook his head. That was too much.

"What if we untied you?" Todd's voice was softer than when he joked.

They would have to move that chair to get the pizza. Then the door would be unblocked. If Kurt were tied up, it would do him about as much good as asking Robbie to let him go had. But if he were free, he might have a chance to run for it. Oh, hell, he might as well. He nodded, and Jace untied him as Kurt told himself someday he'd figure out how his captors decided between rope and handcuffs.

Todd's hot, wet mouth returned to Kurt's cock before Jace pressed his to the countertenor's lips. And, shit, he was really doing this. It tasted salty and bitter, and Jace took care of most of the movement since Kurt was still lying on his back. The blond lasted longer than Kurt did, but, well, he had more experience. It sounded like a good enough excuse.

After, Jace lay on the bed next to Kurt with a contented half-smile playing across his lips. Todd slinked up the bed and positioned himself atop Kurt with his erection pressing against the countertenor's pale skin. So Todd would be the one to actually enter him then.

But the man began to grind against Kurt instead, pressing their mouths together in the first real kiss Kurt had ever shared with anyone. In that moment, Kurt realized he had half-hoped to save his first kiss until he somehow got back home. Whatever, he was getting hard again, and Todd's tongue felt almost as great in Kurt's mouth as it had on his dick.

Jace stood when someone knocked on the door. Kurt readied himself to bolt or cry out, but Todd grabbed the boy's tongue in his teeth and dropped his full weight onto him. Kurt struggled and groaned as loudly as he could with the man's mouth in the way, but the pizza delivery guy was probably too distracted by the completely nude man paying him to notice the two on the bed weren't playing nice. The door closed again, and Kurt heard Jace lock it and move the chair back into place.

Todd returned to kissing and grinding as though nothing had happened, but Kurt had lost interest along with his chance to escape. Eventually Todd gave up with a roll of his eyes and had Jace suck him off.

"Honestly, Alex, you didn't expect us not to plan for that, did you?" Jace asked once his mouth was no longer full.

Kurt shrugged. He kind of had. Or maybe he'd just hoped.

"Don't worry," Todd ran his fingers softly down Kurt's cheek. "It won't change how much we like you since Rob all but guaranteed you'd try something."

"I actually like a guy with a little spunk," Jace added and took a large bite of pizza.

"Speaking of spunk, I want you to know Robin is most definitely _not_ the reason we didn't go as far as he does. He's got no claim to you that we fear or whatever." Todd frowned. "Unless we lost you. Then we'd fear."

"So, what, anal's just a backup if I didn't agree to blow you?" Kurt asked the blond.

Jace and Todd both laughed. "Hell no," Jace answered with his mouth full.

Todd handled the rest. "We don't do it at all. It squicks us both."

Kurt rolled his eyes and lay back on the bed. These guys were too ridiculous for him to deal with right now. If they weren't criminals, psychopaths, and friends of Robin Banks, he might have liked them. But they were, and the only way they could make up for that would be to help Kurt escape.

"Eat your dinner, princess," Jace said. "We bought it for you special, and I don't think Rob and Kitty'll be back in time to get you something else."

Kurt ate. It was greasy and tasted more than a little like the cardboard it had been delivered in. When he finished, Jace tied him back up and told Kurt to get some sleep. Kurt figured he might as well since he'd already missed his chance to get away tonight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Say "Jace and Todd" ten times fast. (If you still don't get it, google "Jason Todd.")


	16. Quinn: Let the Tears Fall

Sometimes Quinn thought losing Kurt had pulled the glee club closer into a sorrowful huddle over the loss of him. Other times she thought it had forced them apart, paying no heed to the desperate scrabbling of fingers as they tried to cling together despite the slowly widening gap separating them. They were all at Finn's, piled into the basement watching a news report on the computer they still called Kurt's even though Finn did his homework on it now, when he bothered to do it at all.

It felt little like togetherness. Everyone avoided the place where Kurt should have lived just as much as they were drawn to it. Someday, Quinn knew they would all drift away, but it hadn't been long enough yet. Long enough that the police sadly admitted they had little chance of finding Kurt, but not long enough for his friends and family to let him go.

Sam's hand squeezed her own, and Quinn answered with a sad smile. He often begged her to say how he could help, but the kind gestures he made without thinking about it soothed her more than anything she could think of.

When the video ended, it still hadn't mentioned Kurt. Instead it talked about Robin Banks and a woman whose name no one knew robbing a bank in Boston. Finn's face fell. It always did because, somehow, he still honestly believed that if he just kept looking, he would find his brother. Quinn had only realized she had given up the night before. When she prayed before bed, she had asked God to protect Kurt's soul instead of to bring him home. Then she cried herself to sleep for the first time since giving up Beth.

She glanced at Puck. She always did when thinking of their daughter.

Giving the baby girl away had been the best choice both for Quinn and for her daughter. Sometimes, though, she thought maybe it hadn't been for Puck. He had seemed to soften and grow up knowing he would have a child. Then when Quinn saw him again at the start of the semester, he had reverted back to the sharp-edged, rebellious kid Quinn remembered from before.

Now, Puck was scowling. His hands clenched into trembling fists at his sides.

"This is the first time Banks has gone out since…" Artie left the sentence unfinished, but everyone still understood. The only other recent news report on him had been Annette Sherwood's. Otherwise, the criminal had lain low.

"Do you think…?" Santana didn't finish either.

"No. He's fine," Finn sounded more like he wanted to convince himself than Santana. "He has to be."

For once, Rachel said nothing, wrapping an arm around her boyfriend and rubbing circles in his back instead. Quinn wanted to comfort Finn, but he wasn't ready yet to listen to someone who had decided to let Kurt go. He and Quinn still had trouble talking to each other without remembering last year anyway. She wanted him to feel better, not worse, so Quinn kept her distance.

"It might be better if he's dead." Puck had never learned diplomacy and probably never would. Quinn had already told him to keep his mouth shut after what happened last week. Now she frowned and tried to think of some way to convince Puck she was right because he clearly disagreed.

"Fuck you, asshole." Finn stayed in his seat at the computer desk, staring into his lap.

"If he's still alive, he's in pain. Guaranteed."

"Puck," Quinn said before he could continue. "Don't try to make Finn feel bad for wanting Kurt to live." She placed her left hand against his shoulder without pulling away from Sam's hand on her right.

The trembling of his fists stilled, but Puck shrugged away from Quinn's touch. "Fine." His eyes narrowed, and he turned with jaw set toward the stairs. He was halfway up them before Quinn decided what to do.

She sighed as she told Sam to wait here. Then she followed Puck quickly before he could leave the house.

"Puck, stop."

For once, he did as she asked. When he turned his face to her, though, he looked ready to bolt. Quinn was used to seeing Puck angry, bored, cautious, confident, and even hopeful. Frightened looked wrong on him.

"We know where Banks is," he said so softly it nearly came out as a whisper.

"We know where he was a few hours ago; it's not the same thing."

"That doesn't mean it can't be."

Quinn stepped forward to rest a hand on his arm lightly enough that he would know she wasn't trying to hold him. Her connection to Puck, whatever it was, always felt stronger with contact.

"Quinn, we haven't known anything since he kidnapped Kurt. Even that girl who went on TV couldn't give much because Banks got the hell out of town before she had even reached the police." Of course Puck would be the only one who could actually fit his mouth around the words to describe what had happened.

"And if he is still in Boston and you somehow find him, what are you going to do? What can you do?"

Puck ran a hand over his face like he could rub everything away and unveil a boy with some sort of happiness left to him. "I don't know… Rescue Kurt or find out what happened to him. Kill Banks."

"Could you really do it though?" Quinn knew Puck talked big; he always had. She also doubted he could go so far as to murder a man, even one as terrible as Robin Banks.

"I don't know, I just—I have to try."

"No," she tried to imprint the word on his mind through the force of her voice. "You don't. The only thing you need to do is make sure we don't lose you too." Quinn moved in closer and brought a hand to cup his face. "You're kind of an ass, but your friends still need you here, Puck."

"No, I'm _very much_ an ass, but I don't know what to do with myself anymore. I..." He looked away. Puck had never shown much interest in sharing. Quinn had never known him before he had something to shut away inside himself, so she was unsure how far back the habit reached.

"It's okay," she said standing much too close to him. She raised a hand to his chest. "You don't have to do anything."

"That's the problem." He stepped back, brows furrowing. "No one does anything, we just sit around moping, or in my case drinking and surfing the web. Sometimes those should really not go together."

"I know it's hard, but there's nothing we can do. It's not like you can go traipsing off and become a bounty hunter. Sometimes the best thing anyone can do is stay and just be there for the people who need them." Her voice had hardened, but Puck was no scared child to run off at hearing the truth, and she had no interest in pretending he was. "Just because it's hard doesn't mean you get to back out."

When he flinched, she knew she had hit a nerve. Quinn doubted Puck had admitted to himself just how much trouble he had dealing with emotional problems.

"But who here really needs me, Quinn?" She heard the rest of the thought even though he left it at that. Everyone had someone to be there for them, whether friends, boyfriends, or girlfriends. But Puck had pushed them all away so many times, even when Kurt was still with them, that while he had friends in the glee club, he didn't have close friends.

"I do." She stepped forward again and caught his face in her hands so he couldn't look away as she stared him in the eye. "I need you to stay, Puck." She let her hands slide down his neck to his chest. It wasn't really a lie.

"What the hell is this?" Sam's voice carried easily through the Hummel-Hudson living room.

"Nothing, Sam," Quinn started to say as she pulled back from Puck.

"I didn't look like nothing."

Puck turned to leave, but Quinn caught his sleeve. She only let go when he promised, "I'm just going home, no farther."

"Quinn!" Sam voice rose in pitch.

Quinn nodded to Puck and turned to her boyfriend, but she waited until the teen with the mohawk had left before she spoke. "He wanted to run off to Boston. All I did was tell him to stay."

"Which was convincing because you all but said you're still into him."

"No." She licked her lips. "I guess it could have looked like that, but we already talked about this. I don't like Puck; sleeping with him was easily the biggest mistake of my life. You, Sam, are the one I'm dating because you're the one I care about."

"Because I'm the one you think is safe."

"Oh, please, there are plenty of safe bets at William McKinley. I know the boys complain that their girlfriends aren't putting out, but they'd have nothing to complain about if they were going to force a girl into anything."

"Puck didn't force you, did he?"

"Of course not." Quinn brushed a strand of hair out of her eyes and stepped closer to Sam. "He gave me wine coolers, but I had agreed before that. It was my mistake, nothing more."

"But it was something more." Sam ran his hands through his hair. "I just met you two in August, but even I can tell. It wasn't just a hookup. And even if it started that way, you had a baby. That's got to change things for you."

"I thought you were never going to use my past against me."

"You aren't letting it be the past. If you can't let go of Puck, then you can't really be with me. We've been trying, Quinn, and it's not working." He put his hands in front of him to keep her away.

Quinn held back the tears. "Sam, please."

He shook his head. "I love you, Quinn, but I'm not cool with being second best. I… I'm breaking up with you." He rushed out the door before Quinn could think of anything to say.

Quinn had had two boyfriends, and both had left her over Puck. She collapsed onto the couch and let the tears fall.


	17. Kurt: All That Mattered

Robin climaxed with his hands wrapped around Kurt's throat. They squeezed tightly enough to make breathing difficult, but not so tight that he would suffocate. The fingers twitched as Rob rode his orgasm out. Kurt just waited for him to finish. The man pulled out with a smirk and went to clean himself off.

"Now shower and get dressed," Robin said as he returned from the bathroom. "Quickly, mind you. We've somewhere to be."

It was the first time Rob had spoken to him directly since… since before Jace and Todd stayed the night. Kurt nodded as Rob un-cuffed him, and darted into the bathroom as soon as he was free. He'd begun to suspect the first thing his captor said to him would be a threat, probably shouted when Kurt was being particularly obnoxious. The civility of Rob's words scared Kurt more than a little. That they were calm meant they were planned. The countertenor was learning to appreciate Robin's temper if only because his calculations led to even greater cruelty.

The water was cold and stayed that way, but Kurt finished cleaning himself quickly and packed his toiletries (he had toiletries again!) away before getting dressed. Kitty had already taken care of everything else and shoved Kurt's things in much too unceremoniously. Kurt made an indignant sound but left it at that. As they walked out the door, he pulled on the black arm warmers Robbie had gotten him to cover the wounds on his wrists.

Kurt would have tried to bolt, and had before when being moved to the car, but Rob had a heavy arm across the boy's shoulders to hold him back. The countertenor thought seriously about asking Kitty to teach him something about throwing off the weight of a guy much bigger than he was. He was getting sick of being held down. The thought had not occurred to him before, but when someone other than Rob—Todd whose name Kurt had trouble thinking without Jace's in front of it—held him down, the contrast gave Kurt's brain a different entrance to the problem. But he was still too small.

Rob drove today. Usually Kitty did because she actually enjoyed driving. Apparently, it was (boring) work for Robbie, so Kurt wondered why he cared to work at it now. When they stopped at the post office, Kitty went in. So maybe they'd decided Robin should keep the car running. A wanted criminal would have some difficulty doing business in a post office, but so far as Kurt knew, law enforcement and the media had nothing on Kitty.

She returned with two boxes and tossed them back to Kurt.

"Open them, princess," Robin ordered without taking his eyes off the road.

"Really, Robbie? And how to you expect me to get past the packing tape?"

Kitty laughed lightly before reaching back to grab the boxes and swiftly cut through the tape. Kurt had sort of hoped they'd at least hand him a key or something. Though he rarely bothered to expect carelessness from Robin anymore. When Kitty passed the boxes back, Kurt noticed they were addressed to Katharina Maynard. The first one held a pair of black sued Prada ankle boots. Kurt was fairly certain Kitty had just haphazardly tossed him a pair of 800 dollar shoes.

"Now stop whining so fucking much." Rob's tone was strangely cheery.

Lost in something that felt like shock, Kurt didn't notice Kitty tossing back the second box. It hit him in the arm and tumbled to the floor where it tipped over, spilling out what Kurt could tell even with a poor view was an Alexander McQueen Asymmetrical Sports Jacket. He'd drooled over it online often enough, when he could pull his eyes away from the price. So quickly he almost dropped the shoes, Kurt snatched the jacket off the dirty floor and smoothed it out.

"I think he likes them," Kitty said with a grin.

Kurt knocked off his shitty sneakers and pulled on the ankle boots. This was the first jacket Rob had given him despite the cold weather, so Kurt slid it over his shirt. Then he pretended they were gifts from someone nice instead of the man who had kidnapped him. He liked them even better when he told himself they had come from his father.

When Rob stopped the car, it wasn't outside another motel. They were in a factory district, on a dark street. It looked like the set of either a crime drama or horror film. Kurt supposed either was appropriate. In front of one of the factories stood Todd, holing a pair of bright red Zota slip-ons in one hand and hot pink stilettos in the other. Kurt rolled his eyes as the grin on the dark-haired man's face.

"I know Robin got you a little something," Todd said as Rob, Kitty, and Kurt approached, "but it's probably just because he didn't want Jace and me getting you something first."

"Todd." Rob's voice held more than a hint of warning.

"I know, I know." He shoved the shoes at Kitty and walked inside.

A moment later, after Kitty had sneered at the flamboyant shoes and stashed them in the car, Todd returned with Jace.

"All ready for you, boss," Jace said, voice flat. "If I weren't so scared of you, I'd be saying there's fucked up shit in your head for planning this."

"Ditto," Todd added as he pulled Jace away. They disappeared around the corner, and Kurt heard a car start up before Rob pushed him into the, apparently abandoned, factory.

It was dark inside, but someone—Jace and Todd, probably—had set up a few floor lamps to light up the area around a mattress set in the middle of the floor. Metal posts sat at each corner of the mattress. A young man, probably about twenty-three, lay on the mattress, chained into place with his arms and legs stretching out toward the posts. Two chairs with a side table between them rested just outside the ring of light given off by the lamps.

Kurt wished he'd ridden off with Jace and Todd.

Robin's voice broke the silence in the factory. "I suggest you undress yourself, Alex. Because Kitty and I would only mess up your pretty new clothes."

The countertenor froze. His mind hadn't quite gotten that far, but if it had, he would have assumed Robin would make him watch.

"Well?" Robin had never struck Kurt as a patient man.

Shit, shit, shit. Kurt undressed carefully, folding everything and placing it in a pile on the side table. Even though he didn't know what Rob wanted from him exactly, he knew it involved participating somehow in what happened to the young man passed out on the mattress. And he would find out the rest soon enough.

Kurt looked around the factory as he dressed, but this section had been walled off into something like a room. The only entrance was the door they'd come in, and Kitty stood by it with her gun drawn and eyes trained on Kurt. Either they had another reason to build a room around the door, or Robin had been planning this—whatever this was—for a while.

"Oh, good, he's waking up." Robin motioned toward the mattress. "Let's greet him, shall we?" He prodded Kurt toward the young man.

Rob's new captive was cute, Kurt noted. Not as ripped as Puck or as adorable as Finn, but handsome in a more refined way. He had reddish hair, and when he opened his eyes, Kurt saw they were green.

"Alex, this is Jack. Jack, Alex." Rob's smile almost passed for welcoming.

"Oh, God, what the hell?" Jack's voice seemed small even though he shouted. He struggled at his bonds as Robin laughed.

"Now, Alex, I assume you know how it works by now. I've certainly demonstrated often enough." He looked at Kurt expectantly.

"I don't know what…" Kurt looked back and forth between the young man in chains and the man who had kidnapped both Jack and Kurt—or at least ordered that Jack be taken, since Jace and Todd may have done the deed itself.

Rob backhanded the countertenor. "You know damn well. You just don't want to. I'll spell it out for the prim little princess: I want you to fuck him. Now." He pulled a bottle of lube from his jeans pocket and tossed it at Kurt. It bounced off the boy's skin and fell to the floor.

Kurt backed up a step, eyes going wide. "I can't, Rob, I can't. I…" Damn it, they'd gotten him shoes; what could he distract himself with now? By their own will, Kurt's eyes returned to darting through the room, but they found nothing new. The countertenor knew he should think of something witty to say. Something clever and scathing, probably more than a little sarcastic. Shit, it'd help if he could remember any of the words he'd supposedly learned before Robin took him.

As his captives watched, Rob pulled a knife from his other pocket and opened it slowly. He approached Kurt with measured steps, but the boy had forgotten how to run, even if he'd someplace to run to. While Kurt stood frozen, Robin grabbed hold of his wrist and twisted it around behind his back. The knife blade, warmed by its time in the man's pocket, pressed firmly against Kurt's throat.

"You'll do what I tell you, Alex. Or you'll do nothing ever again."

Kurt trembled but hadn't given in entirely to fear yet since leaving Lima. He wasn't about to start now. "You don't want to kill me, Robbie," he said, "or you'd have done it already. You can't—"

The blade broke skin and would have found Kurt's jugular if he hadn't pulled back, pressing his body flush with Robin's.

"What's that you were saying, princess?"

Kurt's breath came in short gasps. He pressed his free hand against his neck and felt the slickness of fresh blood.

"I've been nice 'till now," Rob continued, "because I was getting you ready. If you can't do this for me, then it's not worth keeping you around. It's what you might call essential. You may even add 'to my evil plot' if you like; I know how dramatic you can be." That the last part sounded almost tender only made it more terrifying.

For a while now, Kurt had believe Robin wanted him alive and wouldn't kill him. Not yet at least. Now his yet had come, and fuck, but Kurt wasn't ready for it.

"Are you ready now, Alex?" Robin whispered the question into Kurt's ear.

"I don't think there's such a thing as ready for this," the boy answered honestly, but it satisfied his captor.

Rob released Kurt's arm and wrapped his newly freed hand around the boy's waist, keeping the knife trained on Kurt's neck. When the large hand wrapped around his dick, Kurt gasped and tried to pull back from it, but Robin had already closed the space between their bodies.

"You'll need this up, you know," Robin murmured as his hand slid along Kurt's length.

"I know, but I don't—"

"Try. Or die, your choice. Jack's getting raped either way." Kurt hadn't expected to talk his way out of this anyway.

Jack had been yelling and growling inarticulately, except for punctuated strings of profanity, since he woke. "Just punch the asshole and take his fucking knife, you goddamned pussy!" He screamed at Kurt now.

"Oh, yeah, he can't see Kitty, can he?" Rob asked nonchalantly.

"There's a woman with a gun by the only exit," Kurt told the bound man. "Even if I could somehow disarm Robbie, she'd just shoot me." His voice trembled remarkably little once he remembered how to speak. It helped to make excuses. That way it felt like someone else's fault even more than it felt like Kurt's.

"That's a good boy," Rob purred into Kurt's neck before running his tongue along the pale skin, pausing on both scars, one from Robbie and the other from before.

Rob kept his hands on Kurt the whole time, and his knife near Kurt's skin. He cut him more than once, but not as much as he cut Jack. Kurt wasn't surprised he couldn't sustain an erection, but neither was Robin. Apparently, all that mattered was that he tried. All that mattered, and Kurt feared all that would matter again for the rest of his life, was that _he_ was the one to take Jack, that it was Kurt's cock and not Rob's jammed up the unwilling boy's ass.


	18. Burt: Months Still Passed

It was December. Burt's son had been taken from him in October. How could it be December now? He ran a hand over the rough stubble along his jaw and tried not to think about apathetic eyes sitting above mouths that dripped the most senseless sympathetic drabble he'd ever heard. The police said they were still looking, of course they did. They also said, in quiet voices like they thought that would make it hurt less, that the survival rate of minors who had been kidnapped so long ago was low.

What they really meant was that they were looking, but for a body, not a boy.

Burt rubbed at his eyes. He wasn't crying, not at work. Not yet. Not again. He grabbed his jacket and left. Jim nodded to Burt as he walked out the door. No one had to say it; they both knew he was leaving the shop to Jim for the night. He usually did on Wednesdays. His son had been taken on a Wednesday.

The house was empty tonight. Sometimes it was. Sometimes it wasn't. Burt collapsed onto the couch, not sure what else to do. He could call the police again, but they'd told him only an hour ago that they had nothing new and would contact him the moment they did. He could try to get the Amber Alert on Kurt reissued again, but they'd already told him Amber Alerts were for quick responses, and his son already had one. He could eat something, but the thought made his stomach twist in on itself.

Eventually he settled for sitting alone in the dark.

When the door opened, it didn't wake Burt because he hadn't been sleeping, but it felt like being woken up. Someone turned on the lights and dropped a bag by the door. Burt listened until Finn walked into view.

"Oh, hey," the boy said, shuffling his feet. He never seemed to know what to do when he found Burt alone like this. "I didn't know you were here."

"Did you need the TV?" Burt's voice sounded too much like a croak.

Finn shook his head. "No, we were going to, uh, go down to the basement."

Burt nodded. "Let me know if you kids need anything."

Finn led the glee kids to Kurt's room. It was Kurt's room even if he'd been away for a while. When he came home again, Burt knew his son would need it back, and Kurt would probably complain about the mess Finn and his friends had left in it.

Mercedes detoured around the coffee table (Kurt had picked it out) and leaned over Burt to hug him. She didn't say anything, but he heard _I miss him too, Mr. H. I know he's coming home to us, someday._ She followed the others downstairs.

This time, Burt sat alone with the light on. It made little difference.

Not long afterward, Carol came home. She sat down beside Burt, silent at first.

"How long have you been sitting here?" She wrapped an arm around him. It felt like a lifeline, but Burt wasn't sure he wanted to grab hold.

He shrugged. She shook her head.

"You know this isn't what he wants for you." She had learned to talk about Kurt in present tense after Burt flew off the handle when she had talked about his son like he was dead.

"I don't know what he wants. He can't tell me."

"But I know. He wants you to take care of yourself, honey. He wants his home to still be here for him to come back to."

He put an arm around Carol and held her close. "I'll always be here for him."

"Yes, you will. Which is why you're about to eat dinner with me." She stood and crossed her arms even before Burt replied.

"I'm not hungry."

"You're always hungry. You just forgot about it, so come on. I can't make a meal fit to feed us plus all those kids downstairs on my own."

He stood slowly and rubbed the palms of his hands against his jeans. "How did you know they were here?"

"Cars, honey. Mike is in my space again."

"Oh." They walked to the kitchen where Carol gave him something to (poorly) chop. "It's December," he said because nothing else came to mind. He doubted much would come to mind at all until he'd seen his son alive and well again. His world had stopped though the months still passed. All he could do was wait for it to start back up.


	19. Kurt: What You've Done

"So, Alex, do you want Jack to tell everyone what you've done?" Robin smirked from where he lounged in one of the chairs. Jack sobbed on the bed. He gave up shouting when he realized Kurt wouldn't—couldn't—help him

Kurt trembled and curled in on himself in the second chair. He was still naked.

"You don't, do you? You remember Annette? She went on the news and told everyone what an angel you are. I'll bet Jack here would do the opposite. What if your family found out?"

At that Kurt flinched. He hadn't been ashamed before, not like this. He'd been scared, angry, and sad, but he had always known his father would take him in again if Kurt could only get home. Even the dirtiness he felt at giving himself to Rob could wash off because he had done it to protect Sally.

This, though… Sometimes, people stopped deserving forgiveness, and Kurt had found his time. He had never doubted that he would do absolutely anything to get home again. Not until tonight. Now, maybe, he didn't deserve to go home. Kurt blinked the tears from his eyes and shook his head. He didn't want anyone to know about this, ever.

"Then there's only one thing to be done. We make sure he can't." Only Robin Banks could sound so… something between gleeful and aroused… while suggesting murder.

Kurt's eyes grew wide, and he shook his head frantically. They had to… to what, let Jack go? Yes. But Jack would tell; Kurt knew he would tell. Well, he'd be telling on Alex. Jack didn't even know about Kurt, not like Annette had.

While Robin held them captive, Kurt did his best to help Annette and Sally get away safely. He owed Jack the same. He owed Jack more.

He didn't owe Jack anything. This could never be repaid with currency as meager as favors. Wasn't his life enough? Of course it wasn't enough. Kurt sneered, not listening to Rob ramble about how dangerous their—he said 'their', but Kurt wanted to just say 'Rob's'—captive would be if freed. He didn't owe Jack the red-haired man's life. He owed Jack his own life; if Kurt believed in souls, he would believe he owed his to Jack too. Or maybe that it had been destroyed tonight. It was hard to say which.

"Pay attention when I'm talking to you, Alex." Try as he might, Kurt couldn't ignore the threat in Robin's voice. "Good, now, I want you," he jabbed his finger at the countertenor, "to stab this," he waved around his knife, "in his throat," he pointed to Jack.

Again, Kurt shook his head. "We should let him go. I don't care if he talks." The tone of Jack's murmuring changed, though he continued to cry.

"He's more dangerous than Annette was, you know."

"How?" Kurt traced patterns on the arm of the chair with his finger instead of looking Rob in the eye.

"Because he thinks you're a villain too. The girls, they both thought you saved them."

"Save me! Please, save me, Alex!" It came out between sobs and gasps, but Jack managed to cry out to Kurt nonetheless.

"How cute, he thinks he'll remember the help more than the harm. He might for tonight, but tomorrow, he won't. You always remember the one time some guy was a jerk, but never all the times he lent you a quarter before that."

"Maybe he'll do his telling tonight before he forgets," Kurt whispered.

Rob only laughed.

"He could, and you know it." Kurt made his voice firmer this time.

"Sure," Rob visibly stifled another chuckle, "but he could just as easily retell it when he thinks his mind has cleared. And why would he leave out what you've done already even if he thinks what you could do now is more important. The police, at least, will demand the full truth from him."

"I won't tell." Jack's voice was somewhat more coherent this time. "If you let me go, I won't say anything. Ever, I swear!" He struggled weakly against the chains binding him to the mattress and metal posts. Some of them slid more than before, lubricated by his blood.

Kurt didn't believe him. He had tried empty promises on Robin before and recognized the sound of them. Whatever; Jack deserved to live, more than Kurt did anyway. "Please," he said to his captor, "Please let him go."

"And when he talks?"

"I won't!"

"I don't care." Let Jack talk, it would all be about Alex. No one would know to connect him to Kurt Hummel.

"And when Annette hears it? And when she realizes you aren't an angel? And when she tells the world who you really are?" Robin smirked again and fiddled with the knife.

Kurt had no answer for that. He wrapped his arms tighter around himself. "I still think we should let him go."

"Please…" Jack fell back into hysterics.

Rob leaned over to pat Kurt on the head. "Too fucking bad, princess. Let's get him dead now so we can sleep at a decent hour."

Kurt knew he screamed something as Rob dragged him forcibly to the mattress, but he had no idea what. Probably something similar to the noises spilling from Jack. Robin rammed the knife hilt into Kurt's hand but held the boy's arm firmly. Even though Kurt tried to turn the weapon on its owner, he wasn't strong enough to break Rob's grip. So he tried to kick the man in the balls instead. He tried to bite him. Tried to claw at him with the nails of his free hand. Tried to squirm away. Tried anything at all, but nothing worked.

Robin brought the blade, held within Kurt's fist held within Robbie's, to Jack's neck. The young man screamed. The countertenor screamed with him. Rob licked a path from Kurt's shoulder to his ear and whispered, "Do it."

Though Kurt tried not to move because moving away had failed, the murderer holding him steadily pressed their hands forward. The knife broke Jack's skin. A bead of blood slid down his flushed neck to the mattress.

Their captive began to plead again, but it turned to unintelligible gargling noises when Rob dropped his weight onto Kurt, pressing the knife firmly into Jack's throat.

"We missed, you know," Rob said matter-of-factly. "He'll die slowly."

"Then fix it." This time, Alex let Robin move his hand to slit Jack's throat properly. If nothing else, he could help the poor boy die a little more quickly.


	20. Puck: I Need To

If she was so totally into him, why the hell wouldn't Quinn return any of Puck's calls? Or just answer the phone in the first place? Scowling, Puck tossed his phone on the floor and marched to the bathroom for a shower. A hot one because who needed cold showers if girls wouldn't even talk to, much less make out with, him?

As he squeezed out the last of his shampoo, Puck made a mental note to tell his mother he needed more. She was supposed to wash his hair tonight—a mother-son ritual they had never quite given up on—but Puck didn't care. He was going out; he'd decided so about three minutes ago. And, hell, he was out of body wash. So he could either hope he didn't stink too badly or use his sister's fruity-ass shit. Just great. He sniffed at his armpit and decided maybe a little fruit wouldn't be too bad if he covered it with deodorant and cologne.

Okay, so maybe it smelled kind of pretty, but he was supposed to smell manly, not like a fertile garden in bloom or whatever. Though the manliest he ever smelled was probably when drenched in sweat after football practice, and he wasn't about to go around smelling like _that_.

Once Puck had dried off, he stood between the pile of clean clothes and the pile of dirty clothes in his room deciding what to wear. Well, he knew he was going out; deciding where the hell to might help somewhat. He wanted to go to Quinn's. Could he get away with that? Probably not, but he hadn't expected to get away with screwing her either. That hadn't worked out too badly, or at least not as badly as it could have.

Puck pulled a dark red button-up shirt from his closet but wore it with jeans from the clean pile. He didn't want to look like a fucking tool, just kind of nice. For a moment he wondered if the mohawk really let him look nice, but he'd shaved it off before and wanted to keep it now. It was like his signature. No one else at William McKinley, or maybe in the whole town of Lima, had a mohawk.

Before he left, Puck texted Quinn again, but he still hadn't gotten a response by the time he knocked on her door holding a rose he'd taken from his mother's I'll-buy-myself-flowers-because-the-father-of-my-children-won't bouquet. Maybe the flower was overdoing it, but girls ate that sort of thing up.

Quinn opened the door and sighed, "Puck, what are you doing here?"

"You won't answer my calls, or texts, or talk to me at school. It's sort of a last resort." He gave her his charming smile and offered the rose.

"Did you think that maybe I don't want to talk to you?"

"Yes." He nodded his head. "And then I thought I'd ask if you think maybe I need to talk to you anyway. This," he lifted the rose, "Is a peace offering, not a romantic request." Or it was now that he'd thought of that, anyway.

"Where did you get it?" Her voice was flat. He should have realized she'd know he hadn't bought the thing.

"My mom, so it's not stolen, if that's what you were worried about."

"Look, just make it quick. I'm supposed to meet Mercedes at the mall." She crossed her arms.

"Well, can I come inside?"

"No." Quinn did step out of the house and move to the bench on her front porch though.

Puck sat down next to her and stared at his hands for a moment. He was still holding the rose. As he drove over, Puck had figured he would know what to say when the time came, but he still didn't. He wasn't even certain why he had come. For a long time now, Puck had liked Quinn, way more than he could seem to like any of the girls who wouldn't mind if he fooled around. But that wasn't it, not entirely. Sometimes, he wanted to talk with her about Beth, but that only ever sent Quinn running. Then again, the one time Quinn tried to start a conversation about their daughter, Puck had run too.

"Why did you tell me to stay?" he asked instead.

"Because chasing after him is only going to get you lost or killed."

"But you don't actually want me around; you just said that because you knew it'd work." His fist clenched around the rose before he remembered the thorns.

She turned her eyes to the ground. "I… I know I avoid you, Puck. It's not because I don't like you, just… I don't need to define my life by who else is in it. I need to just be me for a while."

"Which is why you started dating Sam, right?"

"It's why I shouldn't have. I don't need a boyfriend in order to be worth something, but it's like I don't even believe that myself sometimes."

Puck laughed. "Baby, if a guy tried to define you the pressure would drive him mad."

"I'm not saying this to amuse you." Oh, fuck, she sounded pissed.

"Neither am I." He placed the rose in her lap even though he knew she would just let it fall when she went inside. "I'm not here because I measure you by whatever guy is closest to you. I'm here because you're the only scale I know to measure myself by." That sounded too much like touchy-feely. Besides, Puck could measure by how many times he'd gotten laid in the past week, right? But he didn't know whether the winner was a high or low score. That, he thought, depended on whether Santana or Quinn was his girlfriend at the time. Maybe.

"Then maybe you're the one who needs 'me time' right now."

He shook his head. "Tried that. Drank too much. Pissed off everyone who I should've been friends with."

Quinn's fingers fiddled about in her lap beside the rose. "Puck, I can't…"

"You know some people can't fix things all on their own." Of course she knew. Quinn hadn't even had a home for a while last year; she'd taken help from Finn, Puck, and Mercedes for that before her mom showed up out of nowhere to take her back. Or, Puck thought she knew, at least.

"I know, but what makes you think I can help?"

"I'm sober, aren't I?" He tried the charming smile again, and this time Quinn's lips curled up in answer for a moment.

Then she hardened her expression. "I think that's as much as I can do though. I need to find myself before I can find you, Puck. And I need to do it alone."

It had the same ring of finality as when she hung up on him. Puck left.


	21. Kurt: Since the Night

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song: "Dead Boy's Poem" by Nightwish.

Kurt handed the driver's license to the woman behind the counter. It had his picture on it and the name Alexander Hood. When Robin gave it to him that morning, Kurt hadn't even bothered to comment on the last name.

Now Rob stood behind Alex with the hood of his jacket up to cover his distinctively scarred face. The gun in Robbie's pocket pressed against Kurt's back the same way it had on the day the countertenor left Lima. This felt like a sick reproduction of the day Kurt had killed Wayne Garcia. It was the first time he had entered a bank since.

The teller smiled and asked Alex if he'd like a checking account and debit card connected to his new savings account. Alex smiled smoothly and replied that he would, thank you. Kurt tried not to tremble or make a run for it. The pressure at the small of his back reminded him to stay calm, or at least look it.

Jace and Todd showed up right on time, faces hidden behind ski masks—though why Jace's was orange, Kurt honestly didn't want to know. They pulled guns, much larger than the handgun Rob had, from their long jackets. The bank patrons fell to the floor easily enough—they'd seen it in movies, no doubt. Alex had to catch the teller's wrists before she could hit a silent alarm under the counter. Rob had planned this for a time when only one teller would be on shift.

Kurt mouthed "sorry" to the girl but held her firmly until Robin took over. Then the boy took his ID and sat down near the others on the floor. They shifted away from him, but whatever. Alex was clearly with the bank robbers even if he also clearly wasn't one of them.

Apparently, Robin disliked dealing with people and usually left that to the others, but he watched over them today, probably so he could keep an eye on Kurt too.

"Why don't you sing a little something for us, Alex? You've been quiet recently." Rob sounded like he was laughing at Kurt.

Alex hadn't sung anything since the night he and Robin killed Jack. He didn't want to anymore. And, oh fuck, a request for music made this almost dead-on for a reenactment of the last time he'd been to a bank.

"Come, now, I thought we were past all this," Robin growled.

"Chill the fuck out, Robbie." Kurt rolled his eyes. "I'm just trying to decide on a song." Lying was easier than arguing.

_Born from silence, silence full of it  
A perfect concert my best friend  
So much to live for, so much to die for  
If only my heart had a home  
_

The song sounded entirely different a cappella. Softer, but also somewhat empty or hollow. Hollow, Alex decided, suited him just now.

_Sing what you can't say  
Forget what you can't play  
Hasten to drown into beautiful eyes  
Walk within my poetry, this dying music  
My love letter to nobody  
_

One of the men on the floor looked ready to try something—Kurt remembered the look from Wayne and Pierce's robbery. Robin noticed too and stopped him with a solid kick or three. The bank robber hadn't lied when he told Kurt that he had thought of everything, planned against every possible action. Some nights he even suspected the man had somehow engineered Annette's escape.

_Never sigh for better world  
It's already composed, played and told  
Every thought the music I write  
Everything a wish for the night  
_

Alex wrapped his arms around his knees and tried not to look the downed man in the eyes. He continued singing, though, because Robbie had asked him to.

_Wrote for the eclipse, wrote for the virgin  
Died for the beauty the one in the garden  
Created a kingdom, reached for the wisdom  
Failed in becoming a god  
_

Kurt finished singing as Jace and Todd finished robbing. He helped them carry the bags out to where Kitty waited in the car while Robbie shot the teller. She drove off before the cops arrived, and they switched vehicles before an hour had passed. When they were certain they'd gotten away safely, Robin smiled and kissed Alex full on the lips. The boy kissed him back because what else was he going to do? When Robbie decided he wanted to fuck, Alex closed his eyes and tried to enjoy it for much the same reason.


	22. Puck: A Hope in Hell

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song: "For No One" by the Beatles.

This was how Puck said goodbye. He knew it wasn't enough.

_Your day breaks, your mind aches  
You find that all the words of kindness linger on  
When she no longer needs you  
_

Puck's voice mingled with Will Schuester's. The man hesitated at first when Puck asked him to do this duet, but they had sung to the club together before. Besides, Puck figured he could protect his Jewish-artists-only streak if he didn't sing alone because group songs didn't count. Puck had encouraged his teacher to invite Ms. Pillsbury because he knew the Spanish teacher had reason to sing this song too.

_She wakes up, she makes up  
She takes her time and doesn't feel she has to hurry  
She no longer needs you  
_

Quinn looked uncomfortable, but that just meant she knew Puck intended the song for her. She had lied. She didn't need him.

_You want her, you need her  
And yet you don't believe her when she says her love is dead  
You think she needs you  
_

Robin Banks was on the news again, robbing another bank. This time there was a boy with him who no one had seen before. The cameras had been disabled and the teller who may have seen his picture ID killed. The police sketches looked a lot like Kurt even though witnesses all said Banks called him Alex. Maybe the freak had a type.

_You stay home, she goes out  
She says that long ago she knew someone but now he's gone  
She doesn't need him  
_

Maybe Kurt had changed his name. Maybe he was alive, living under a pseudonym as Robin Banks tortured and raped him. Maybe he had saved Annette Sherwood. Maybe he was just another hostage instead of a new addition to the team. The witnesses from the robbery did say Alex had been unarmed.

_Your day breaks, your mind aches  
There will be times when all the things she said will fill your head  
You won't forget her_

_And in her eyes you see nothing  
No sign of love behind the tears  
Cried for no one  
A love that should have lasted years_

When they had finished, Puck didn't wait around to see if Quinn wanted to talk. He left immediately for the long drive to New York. It was a massive city; he knew there wasn't a hope in hell that he would actually find Banks or Kurt, but he had to try. Puck's patience had run out. Or maybe it wasn't patience at all, but something between survival instinct and social apathy. Puck couldn't sit by and do nothing just because it would keep him alive, not anymore.

So he went to New York. The drive sucked ass; the city was crowded and loud. Pretty much what he had expected, as was the utter lack of Kurt that turned up in his aimless wanderings through the city. He slept in his car—his mom's car really, but whatever. He'd taken her credit card too, but she hadn't deactivated it yet. Maybe she was using the charges on it to find him.

What Puck had not so much expected was to find himself wandering through a park in the middle of the night asking drug dealers if they knew anything about Banks because no way would more upstanding citizens know a damn thing. And they kept making him buy from them before speaking enough to reveal they knew jack shit. Puck got back at them by giving the drugs away for free or leaving them on park benches once he was out of sight.

A real fox of a woman sat on one of the benches. She clearly wasn't a dealer, but she lacked the twitchy look of an addict. Puck sat next to her with a charming smile and asked how she was doing.

She smiled back, but her words sent what felt way too much like a shiver up Puck's spine. "Oh, well enough considering I've been put to work in the middle of the frickin' night. I forgot which one you are... one of the jocks, definitely. Is it Mike or Noah?"

He stood and backed away, but she followed and somehow managed to twist Puck's arm around and pin him before he had a chance to even make a fist, much less swing it. "Mohawk means Puckerman," he said in place of empty threats. How the hell did she (almost) know his name?

"I should've known that. Sorry, Noah." She brought something sharp and glittering—a knife, it had to be—and pressed it against his throat.

"Puck." He tried to think of ways to get out of this, but he couldn't break her grip even if the blade had been less convincing than it was.

"Puck then. You've been looking for my Robin, right?" The way she whispered into his ear would have been hot if not for… well, everything else.

"Yeah." Either Banks or Kurt, Puck still wasn't sure sometimes.

"Goodie then, right this way." She shoved him forward. Puck walked with her to a motel not far from where he'd parked his car. So now all he had to do was get the woman to let go, pull Kurt's knife from his pocket, kill Banks, free Kurt from whatever bonds they had on him, and get them both to his car. Then he could drive home a hero, and people would stop giving him so much fucking shit. Puck already doubted the plan would work out.

Puck counted the doors between the exit and the room the woman shoved him into (six), and he made sure he knew which way his car was even from inside the building. He needed to be ready to get the hell out of there at a moment's notice or less.

"Honey, I brought a present!" The woman called as she opened the door.

And holy fuck, it was Kurt. He sat, naked, on a piece-of-crap motel bed with his hands in his lap and scars on his skin. The thought that Kurt would never feel comfortable shirtless at a pool flashed through Puck's head before he even registered the tall, domineering figure leaning against what passed for a chest of drawers. It was Robin Banks. So Puck had found them both.

"Look, Alex, it's one of your friends. So kind of him to pay us a visit." Banks leered, and the only thing Puck wanted more than to punch him in the mouth was to kill the fucker.

Kurt had been staring into his lap, at either his fingers or his battered wrists. Now he turned his eyes to Puck. When they went wide and his mouth fell open as those fingers curled into small fists, Puck realized Kurt hadn't even looked afraid before. Just kind of resigned. Now he was scared, but something told Puck it wasn't his own safety Kurt bothered to worry about anymore. It made Puck want to kill Banks more.

"Puck, what…?" He clamped his jaw and swallowed heavily.

"He's been asking about Rob, y'know," the woman offered. Her voice actually sounded helpful. "I think he wants to save you."

What the fuck else would he have come for? Well, murder, but rescue of Kurt came first anyway, especially now that Puck knew he was alive.

Banks pulled a .45 from where it sat beside him on the chest of drawers and said, "Okay, then, get him undressed." His voice sounded lazy, but he leveled the gun at Puck.

"Robbie, I didn't realize he was your type." Kurt didn't sound like a hostage or captive. He sounded like a jealous girlfriend. Oh fuck.

"No, but I think he's yours." The man's eyes never left Puck.

Kurt rolled his eyes and sighed. "You think a lot of things, many of them silly."

Puck kept his mouth shut as Robin's girlfriend pulled off his clothes. Even if he opened it, Puck wasn't sure any coherent string of words would come out. His brain was stuck on 'what the fuck.' After the woman pulled his pants off, Puck tried to cover himself with his hands. He knew he looked damn hot in the nude, but this felt less like nude and more like naked. And really fucking weird. If he was honest with himself, it was also more than a little terrifying.

They made Kurt help the woman—Banks called her Kitty—tie Puck's arms to the bed. He threw up a little in his mouth when he thought it might have been hot if not for the men and guns. Getting tied up like this, and struggling against those bonds, had to be what had torn Kurt's wrists the hell up. And oh, damn it, Puck felt both freaked the shit out and like a fucking moron because he'd just realized they were planning to rape him. He tried to will Banks' gun to explode or fly out of the man's hands even though Puck had given up on having psychic powers when he turned seven. Kurt's knot felt less tight, but Kitty seemed satisfied when she yanked on it after he had finished.

"Alex, I can't remember. Is your friend gay?" Banks cocked his head as if trying to think of something.

"No." Kurt's voice didn't sound flirty or jealous anymore, just hollow. He sat beside Puck on the bed with his shoulders slumped. Even though no one had tied him up yet, he looked like he already was.

"Too bad. He won't enjoy this like we will." The man grinned. It made him look like a cartoon villain. "Now, touch him." He scowled when Kurt pressed a finger to Puck's bicep. "You know what I mean, Alex. Don't get cute now." He adjusted his aim with the .45 as if to remind Kurt it was there.

Kurt swallowed, licked his lips in a scared rather than sexy way, and brushed his fingers along Puck's cock. They were going to rape him and make _Kurt_ fucking do it. Puck was pretty sure Banks had already killed him, and this was some sort of hell.


	23. Kurt: At Least Try

There were probably words to describe this. Kurt felt like he didn't know them, though maybe he had at one time. Puck squirmed under Alex's touch, trying to pull away even though he had nowhere to go. He looked scared, defiant, angry, confused, and maybe a little hopeful. Some part of Puck still believed he could get out of this.

Kurt had been here before though. The other's name had been Jack, not Puck, but it was all the same. What Robin wanted Kurt to do was the same.

It wasn't though. Jack had been planned carefully; Puck was a spur of the moment decision. Jack had been chained in an abandoned factory; Puck was tied up in a hotel room. Just because things were similar didn't mean they had to be the same. And just because Kurt couldn't help Jack didn't mean he couldn't at least try to help Puck. He had already saved Annette and protected Sally. Why not one more?

Hope, it turned out, was contagious. Rob had never once complained about Kurt's singing, at least not until after he finished the song. So Kurt felt safe choosing a slow song. A perfect song.

_You think that I can never laugh again  
You'll see  
You think that you destroyed my faith in love  
You think after all you've done  
I'll never find my way back home  
You'll see  
Somehow, someday  
_

What could he do though? The gun that prevented him from escaping on his own kept him from helping Puck just as effectively. It hurt to realize he probably couldn't do anything for Puck until after tonight. Not just because Kurt didn't want to do this, but because he didn't want his friend to live with it.

_All by myself  
I don't need anyone at all  
I know I'll survive  
I know I'll stay alive  
All on my own  
I don't need anyone this time  
It will be mine  
No one can take it from me  
You'll see  
_

Alex turned his eyes toward Robin to make sure the man knew he meant the lyrics and wasn't just mouthing them. He let the corner of his lip shape itself into a smirk when Rob looked pissed. The fucker had thought he'd broken Kurt. It wouldn't be so easy a thing to manage as that. And Robbie had made a mistake in reminding Kurt of this by bringing Puck to him.

_You think that you are strong, but you are weak  
You'll see  
It takes more strength to cry, admit defeat  
I have truth on my side  
You only have deceit  
You'll see_

_Somehow, someday_

Rob's phone (Kurt was still trying to figure out how Robin could have a cell phone) went off during the last verse, and Kitty answered. Alex watched her jerk in shock and shove the phone at Rob. The bank robber scowled. Kurt kept himself from smiling and continued lightly petting Puck. Bad news for Rob might actually be good news for the man's captives.

"Cuff him and grab the bags. We'll pick up the boys later."

Alex had never heard Rob's voice so clipped and strained. He could think about it later; for now, Kitty was cuffing him beside Puck on the bed. Unfortunately, she was still aware enough to cuff both of his hands and use the cuffs whose key Robin wore around his neck. Kurt hadn't really expected her to screw up anyway.

But she only grabbed two of the duffel bags under the bed when she left. The third was technically Kurt's, but he had watched her pack a smaller handgun into it last night when the other two bags had been too full. If he could get free…

"Kurt, I…" Puck swallowed the rest of the sentence into a strangled mess. He probably hadn't known what he was going to say anyway.

"Can you get either of your hands free?"

Puck scowled. "I've been trying." His breath smelled like McDonald's. Kurt hated that place more now than he had in Lima.

Maybe if Kurt could reach… His hands wouldn't move toward the rope, but he pulled himself up and reached for Puck's bonds with his mouth.

"Puck, can you push me to reach that?" he gestured with his head toward Puck's wrist.

"Probably not without dislocating your arms."

"Well fucking do it."

He felt Puck jerk in what was probably shock, but then the other teen used his legs to push Kurt across the bed. Alex grabbed the rope in his teeth and began pulling. He ignored the pain in his shoulders and arms. It wouldn't matter so long as he could free Puck.

"Kurt, do you know where the key to those cuffs is?" It felt strange to be called Kurt again. Sometimes he didn't even bother to call himself that anymore.

"Yes. Around Robbie's neck." He kept it short so that he could return to working at the rope.

"Why do you call him that?" Puck sounded… disgusted wasn't quite the word, and neither was frightened.

"Because it bugs the shit out of him. I can't talk and try to untie you at the same time, so shut the hell up, okay." His lips and tongue were already sore, but he would keep working the rope until either Puck was free or Rob showed up to stop him.

"Oh. Okay." The silence felt awkward, but Alex ignored it.

He finally managed to pull the rope loose enough for Puck to slip his hand out and untie the other wrist. Puck immediately began pulling at the headboard, trying to pry it apart. Alex let him play a moment as he finished thinking out his plan.

"Puck, listen. You'll have to go without me."

"Hell no, Kurt. I'm not—"

"There's a duffel under the bed. I need you to take a gun out of it and tape it to the back of the toilet tank. Then I need you to leave."

"Dude, if I have a weapon, I can stay and shoot the motherfucker." He pulled the bag from under the bed and unzipped it.

Kurt shook his head even though Puck wasn't looking. "No, he'll expect something if he notices you're still here. Or he might use me as a hostage against you. I've helped someone escape before, so he'll think it's like that time. He'll think I'm unarmed."

"You mean Annette Sherwood?" The jock returned the duffel bag to where he'd found it once he pulled the handgun and duct tape out.

"I suppose I should have expected that," Kurt mused.

"What?"

"Her last name. Now put that on the back of the toilet. Quickly. I don't know how long they'll be gone."

Puck didn't move. He looked torn. "Would you have done it?"

Alex wanted to pretend he didn't know what the other boy was talking about, but he didn't have the luxury of time. "I have before. Now move."

When Puck hurried to the restroom, it looked a lot like running away. Well, good. Maybe if he thought Kurt was evil now, he would be willing to save himself.

"You remember my phone number?" Puck asked as he walked back into the main room. He continued after Kurt nodded, "Call me when you're free. I can drive you back home." He pulled on his pants and took some change from the pocket. "This should be enough for a payphone." He found Kurt's pants easily enough and pressed the change into the left pocket. Then he pulled a knife—Kurt's knife, left in the choir room so long ago—from his pocket and left it in Kurt's pants pocket as well. "I'm only leaving so I can go to the police." It sounded honest enough. "They'll come for you soon, and I bet they can get those cuffs off."

When Puck finally left, Kurt settled back and got some sleep. If nothing else, he would be rested when he faced Robbie again. This was the closest he'd ever felt to escaping.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Remember way, way back in chapter 11 when I said I'd been debating about using another song but loved it so much I would save it for later? This is that song. It's Madonna's "You'll See." I'm glad I saved it because I believe it has more impact here than it would have as part of a random bath scene.


	24. Mercedes: We Will Wait

"It's my fault he left like that." Quinn was usually so in control of herself, but now she cried openly. Mercedes hated to see her friend hurt like this, but everyone hurt now. They had ever since Kurt was taken from them.

"You know that's not true. Puck ran off because he's kind of stupid sometimes, not because you didn't want to go out with him." She handed her friend a fresh tissue and rubbed her hand along the other girl's upper back. Most nights Quinn comforted Mercedes, but Puck had been safely in Lima for most nights.

"He stayed until I pushed him away."

"That boy's been wanting to run off and chase Kurt down from the start, and you know it. It's a miracle he held back this long." Puck hadn't dealt well with waiting. Mercedes saw him as more of a lashing-out kind of guy anyway. Being left behind didn't work for him because he didn't have the patience to realize he couldn't do anything. Mercedes tried not to think about her own lack of patience. Tonight was about Quinn; they'd talked about missing Kurt already.

"And _you_ know that's not true. Everyone wanted to go after Kurt, not just Puck. And he would have stayed back the same as everyone else." When she blew her nose, her friend knew she'd finally given up trying to keep a hold of herself because it was a real blow, not one of the dainty little things she usually did into a tissue.

"It's not like he'll find anything anyway. He'll be home in a few days, moping around even though he knew going to New York wouldn't actually help." Though she still worried about Puck, Mercedes knew it was true. If Robin Banks could hide himself from the police, he could hide himself from a confused teenager.

Quinn excused herself to use the Jones' restroom. Mercedes focused on staring at her fingernails. They were unpainted now, and she needed a manicure, especially since she'd been biting them. It was easier not to cry if she had something to focus on. Comforting Quinn helped as much as anything else that kept her brain busy. Mercedes had learned to keep herself occupied throughout the day because she couldn't cry if she had no time for it. The tears still came at night when she tried and failed to fall asleep, but at least no one else saw them.

When the head cheerleader returned, she wrapped an arm around her friend's shoulders. "I told him we couldn't lose anyone else," she said. "We've always only been able to wait, but now it's for both of them."

Mercedes nodded.

Quinn continued, "I hope he doesn't find anything. It sounds terrible to say that. I should be wishing for him to find Kurt and bring him home to us."

"No, you're right." Mercedes returned the other girl's hug as proof she meant it. "Puck can't handle Banks. The only way he's coming back to us is if he doesn't find anything." She didn't know Puck all that well compared to some of the other gleeks. What Mercedes did know about the jock was that he was, in a lot of ways, still just a kid. A tall, hunky kid who didn't know how to deal with his life anymore. She thought he had run away from his own emotions as much as he had run toward Kurt.

The cheerio shivered. "I should have stopped him."

"I thought we covered this. You couldn't have."

"I did before." It came out as a whisper, but Mercedes heard it clearly.

"By letting him think something that wasn't true. Girl, stop blaming yourself. Puck left because of his own problems. You're not the issue; he is." She believed Puck would come back, and Quinn would feel better when he did. The difference was that Puck _left._ Kurt was taken. She turned her thoughts back to Quinn as the blonde began speaking because she didn't want to start crying now.

"The last time we talked, it was the only adult conversation I've ever had with him. And it's not really a lie he believed. I do like him. He's cute and sweet when he's not a jerk, and, oh, what am I going to do, Mercedes?" She ran her fingers through her hair.

"You and Sam had just broken up. Whatever else was going on with you, he should have known better than to think you'd be interested in seeing someone else so soon. I'm pretty sure he doesn't actually know much about dating."

"Like he and Santana still can't figure out whether or not they're dating at all."

"See. He's just confused."

"So confused that he ran off after a serial killer." Quinn bit at her lower lip.

"That's not the same thing at all." Mercedes needed something that would actually reassure Quinn, but she suspected the only thing that would work was Puck's safe return.

"I tried to call him again this morning." She ran her tongue over the spot on her lip she'd been working at with her teeth. "I think he hit ignore. That means he still has his phone, right?"

Mercedes nodded. Maybe someone else could have hit ignore, but only Puck would have a reason to keep his phone around, right? Unless some homeless guy picked it up and thought he could use it for something. She decided not to mention anything like that to Quinn. Puck had his cell phone; that was the story she'd stick to tonight. "He's probably just afraid to talk to you."

"He's never been afraid to talk to me, even when he's scared of some of the things we might say." She glanced at the clock and pulled her lip back between her teeth. "Can I stay here tonight?"

Mercedes shrugged. "I don't know how much sleep you'll get," she left out the 'with me crying all night' part, "but you know you're welcome here."

"Thanks, Mercedes. I wouldn't sleep well at home either."

She had resisted for so long and knew she wouldn't last the night, so Mercedes let the stupid question she'd been holding in slip out. "I know it's not likely, but… do you think there's a chance he could bring Kurt home?"

Quinn looked about to cry again. "Oh, sweety, you know I don't." She pulled her friend into a tight hug.

"I know." Quinn had admitted she thought Kurt was in heaven by now. She obviously hadn't wanted to, but Mercedes had worked it out of her. "I just…" She just wasn't ready to accept that her best friend was dead. The tears broke through then, and Mercedes cried against her friend's shoulder.

"Come on. I know you probably aren't hungry, but you need some comfort food." Quinn helped Mercedes up and grabbed a blanket from the foot of the bed. She led Mercedes to the couch and left her with the blanket wrapped around her. When Quinn came back, she was holding two tubs of ice cream. She usually declined the ice cream part of moping sessions with Mercedes, but maybe she needed it too tonight.

Quinn handed Mercedes the chocolate as she climbed under the blanket and opened the strawberry for herself. Ice cream wasn't as effective when the boys they were hurt over could be dead, but at least it was something. They didn't put on a movie because there weren't any movies they wanted to watch right now.

"I miss him," Mercedes whispered. "Both of them. I need them to come home safe, Quinn. I don't know what I'll do if they can't."

"I know." Quinn began crying again. Mercedes understood. Their boys could be dead, and they couldn't do anything but sit around weeping and stuffing their faces. "We will wait for them together. All of us."

"And when they come home, we'll give Kurt all the kisses he can handle and smack Puck upside the head for being an idiot."

Quinn nodded her agreement. The girls settled into the couch with their snack. It felt like waiting as much as anything else would, as everything else already did.


	25. Kurt: I Will Go On

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's a song in here: Breaking Benjamin's "Until the End." I believe Kurt is talented enough to reinterpret the song in a way that better suits his voice on the fly while waiting for something that could end with him dead. That's not sarcastic; he probably could.

Kurt waited. He knew Robin and Kitty would come back for him, even if he didn't know when. If they took too long, the police would arrive first. He hadn't slept for long. He was too excited. Instead, he settled for singing to himself while he waited. His voice was soft. Not timid, but tranquil. Something would end tonight, whatever happened.

_So clever  
Whatever  
I'm done with these endeavors  
Alone I walk the winding way  
(Here I stay)  
It's over  
No longer  
I feel it growing stronger  
I'll live to die another day  
Until I fade away  
_

Rob burst through the door almost before Kurt realized it had opened. Kitty scurried to grab the last of their things.

"Fuck, should've cuffed you both," Robin growled as he freed Kurt's wrists. "C'mon."

"Hey, asshole, can I pee first?"

A shove toward the bathroom was all the answer Robbie gave. Kurt managed not to smile until he reached behind the toilet and found the gun Puck had hidden there for him. He made sure it was loaded before leaving the bathroom, thankful for the second time in his life that any self-respecting redneck would make sure his son could handle a gun.

_Why give up, why give in?  
It's not enough, it never is  
So I will go on until the end  
We've become desolate  
It's not enough, it never is  
But I will go on until the end  
_

As soon as she saw him, Kitty froze. Robin stared at her for a moment before turning to Alex. The boy's smile widened. His captors were both armed, but he wasn't scared.

"Alex," Rob said, frowning, "You know two on one pretty much guarantees you'll lose."

"One of you will lose with me then." He leveled the gun, pointing it toward Robin. "Wayne Garcia didn't think I'd shoot, at least not before he did. You could learn a thing or two from his mistake. Kitty, cuff Robbie to my bed."

She hesitated, but Rob nodded. He still expected to get out of this. He probably thought Kurt would let him live. Maybe Rob even saw binding him as a sign that Alex just didn't want to be followed when he left.

_Surround me  
It's easy  
To fall apart completely  
I feel you creeping up again  
(In my head)  
It's over  
No longer  
I feel it growing colder  
I knew this day would come to end  
So let this life begin  
_

When Kitty finished with the handcuffs, Kurt told her to leave the keys on the table by the door. Then he put a bullet in her brain. By the sound Robbie made, he hadn't expected Alex to shoot. Hadn't Kurt _just_ reminded them of how he'd killed Wayne?

"Alex, by now you've guessed this wasn't actually part of my plan."

Kurt ignored him as he dressed himself. Then he pulled the knife Puck had left out of his pocket. He used it to cut off Rob's clothes.

"What's this then? Payback?"

"Yes."

This, Alex thought, must be what going insane feels like. He had a thousand deaths planned for Robin Banks, imagined sometimes angrily, others hopefully, and occasionally even lovingly as he lay awake at night unable to face his nightmares. Could he kill him? Of course he could kill him. He'd done it before, hadn't he? Fewer than five minutes had passed since he shot Kitty.

He thought of Jack screaming 'Save me,' but pushed it aside. Jack would want this too. Alex positioned himself between Robbie's legs, and the man tried to kick at him and pull away.

"Relax, moron. I'm not putting my dick anywhere. You may have noticed I have pants on."

Rob stared at Alex like he'd gone insane (maybe he had), and the pause gave the countertenor the chance he needed. He gripped the knife firmly and rammed the blade as far as he could up Robin's asshole. He frowned when the man screamed and used the rags of Rob's shirt as a gag as he sang to cover up the noise.

_I've lost my way  
I've lost my way, but I will go on until the end_

He pulled the blade out to bring it to Robin's chest. Alex used his body weight as best he could to hold the larger man still. He wanted this to be readable. Red letters stared up at Alex from where he had pressed them into Robin's chest as the man writhed and screamed. They said, "The death of Kurt Hummel."

If a little hint was enough to scare off Puck, this should be enough to keep the rest of those he had left behind in Lima away from him too. It certainly looked like the work of a psycho. (It certainly felt like the work of a psycho.) He shivered.

Alex slit Robbie's throat like the man had shown him with Jack. He left the robber there and went to Kitty. He closed her eyes because even if she was insane to be with Robin and to help him, Kitty had been nice to Alex sometimes.

Before he left, Alex piled some of Robin and Kitty's things—money, phone, laptop, chargers, and knives, but not guns—into his duffel. He swung the strap over his shoulder and left the bodies of his captors for the police to find.

_The final fight I'll win  
The final fight I'll win  
The final fight I'll win  
But I will go on until the end_


	26. Finn: Anything at All

It was the middle of the night, and that usually meant Finn was lying awake in bed. Sometimes he just couldn't sleep however hard he tried; others it felt like cheating to sleep easily when he knew Kurt probably couldn't. Tonight, someone had called Burt. It was too late for phone calls, but after answering with a grumpy midnight complaint, Burt had shut himself in the basement.

Finn and his mom waited on the couch. Something was happening. They knew it. Burt had been kind of all over the place recently, but this was different. Something important was happening while Finn fiddled his thumbs and ignored the sound of the ceiling fan clicking.

The only important thing left was Kurt. It had to be about Kurt.

Was he dead? Had someone found a corpse? No, Kurt couldn't be dead. Burt would have simply collapsed, not gone into a frenzy in the basement. Had they found him? Was Kurt safely in police custody, maybe on his way to a nearby hospital? No, Burt would have rushed to his son's side if he could, not locked himself up to stay on the phone. It couldn't be Kurt because Burt was still here and still functioning. What else could be so important? Finn ran a hand through his short hair, trying to think.

Robin Banks. They had found Robin Banks. Or at least a strong lead. Finn hoped it was Banks. He hoped the fuckhead had pulled a gun on the cops and forced them to shoot him. If they had found Banks but not Kurt, what would that mean? Was Kurt rotting in a ditch somewhere waiting to be found long after Banks had disposed of his body? Finn hoped Kurt had gotten away. He could have escaped from Banks and left an anonymous tip with the police about where the criminal was. Then Kurt could have tried to find a way home. It was dumb not to just go to the police, but Kurt didn't like relying on others too much, so maybe he'd try to make his own way back.

Finn decided that was the story he like best. He knew that meant it was the one least likely to be true. If he had his way, Finn would call truth a liar and leave it at that, but he found out a while ago that refusing to face facts never made them go away. It only gave people another reason to call him dumb.

When Burt finally came out of the garage, he had already finished on the phone. Finn wanted to ask him about Kurt, but his jaw clamped shut and refused to work with him. His hands clenched into fists, unclenched, clenched, until he shoved them in the pockets of his pajamas.

"Is it Kurt?" Finn's mom asked after a silence that lasted too long. The teen flinched; they rarely said Kurt's name anymore. Not out loud.

Burt nodded, shook his head, shrugged, and collapsed into a chair. Carol was at his side immediately, to comfort him.

When neither adult said anything else, Finn worked to find his voice. "Is it Banks?"

"They found him." The emptiness in Burt's eyes and the way he stared ahead without focusing on anything said they hadn't found Kurt with him.

"Then they can make him talk. Make him tell us where Kurt is." Finn paced the room. Banks had to talk. They had to find Kurt. If they didn't… they just had to.

Burt shook his head though. "He's dead."

Finn froze. "'He' means Banks, right." The jock didn't let a question enter his voice. When Burt nodded, Finn's entire body relaxed. He hadn't even felt tense because, for that moment, he hadn't felt anything at all. "Do they have, um, leads? For Kurt?" Someone had to find him. It didn't matter who.

Burt shook his head and buried his face in his hands.

"What aren't you telling us?"

The question surprised Finn. What else was there to tell? Banks was dead; Kurt was still missing. Only two questions mattered, and Burt had answered those. Apparently the boy's mom saw something more there. And by the way Burt flinched, she was right.

"I don't… I… Don't say anything until it's been on the news, okay? I don't even know if we should know yet since Kurt was already gone and it didn't even happen in Ohio."

As Burt spoke and shivered in a way Finn had still believed only kids could, the other question found its way into the teen's mind. "How did he die?" Puck had gone to kill him. Finn never believed his classmate could do it, but he never believed Puck could fool around with his own best friend's girlfriend either. If Puck killed Banks, then maybe he was driving home with Kurt right now. Maybe it would all be okay, and everyone could feel alive again.

"By knife. His accomplice was shot." It sounded like an answer to what Finn had asked, but didn't even come close to what he'd meant.

"But who did it?"

Burt cried.

That wasn't right. Adults were people too, Finn was old enough to have realized that, but this was different. It wasn't that an adult was crying, or even that Finn's surrogate father was crying, but _Burt_ was crying. Burt was strong. He never gave in. He never cried.

"It was…" For a moment, Finn couldn't even say the name. Burt didn't cry (but he was now), and Kurt wasn't a murderer (but he shot Garcia). "They think Kurt did it."

By this point, Burt couldn't speak, but he nodded weakly. Carol asked Finn to bring Burt some water. He did even though he knew she just wanted him out of the room so she could talk to Burt alone. Finn sat down on one of the stools in the kitchen. He felt like maybe he should have collapsed into it, but only in the way he felt like lightning should have flashed and thunder boomed through the sky. He watched too many movies.

Kurt had killed a man. Another man. Or two more, counting whoever the accomplice was. The countertenor had been a mess after the first time, when all that had happened to him was pulling a trigger after having been called some names he regularly was at school anyway. Now he had spent almost two months with a psychopathic serial rapist and murderer and killed a total of three people. Finn had no doubt they were all in self-defense, but that sort of thing would mess with a guy's head.

He grabbed two glasses of water and carried them out to the living room. "Why do they think it was him?"

All the answer Burt gave was to shake his head. It didn't help. Finn watched enough crime dramas to make random, shot in the dark guesses, but he wanted to know. Not so much 'what put the suspect at the crime scene?' as 'why Kurt instead of someone else?'

The boy waited in the living room while his mother helped Burt up to their room. No one believed he could sleep, but Carol said she would feel better if he would at least lie down. When she came back, Finn thought maybe it had been as much a way to get Burt out of the room as asking for water had been to get Finn out.

She motioned for her son to sit and held onto him once he had. "It's the way he was killed," she said in a quiet voice. For a while, she didn't go on. Finn waited. He could feel her crying even though she had turned her face away. "He car—there were words in his chest. One of them was Kurt's name."

Finn wanted to say something. For a long time he couldn't. When he finally could, only a question would come out. "What were the other words?"

His mom shook her head. "I don't know. Burt couldn't say. I think, if we're lucky, we'll never find out."

"I don't feel lucky." If he were lucky, Puck would be driving Kurt home now. He wanted Kurt to be home now.

"I know, sweetheart." She began to cry now too. "We can only wait and see, but at least we have reason to believe he's alive now. It's not much, but yesterday everyone told us he was probably dead."

"Puck said it'd be better for Kurt if he were dead."

"We can't possibly know that, but… maybe it would. I know I should tell you everything will be okay, Finn, but I can't." She fell into sobs and clung to her son. Finn held to her just as tightly. When he found out Quinn was pregnant, Finn had thought he learned what it was like to be an adult. Now he thought adulthood felt a lot more like standing on a sinking ship because someone else rode in his lifeboat. He closed his eyes but didn't sleep before his mother pulled away to check on Burt. Finn didn't fall asleep after either. He saw no reason to try.


	27. Alex: You Don't Sleep

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So… you probably already noticed the Alex thing… you can't really say no one saw it coming.

Alex didn't call Puck. He scrolled through the contacts on Robin's phone until he found Jace and called him instead.

"Fuck, Kit, that was quick." It was Jace's voice. He sounded terrified and short of breath.

"It's Alex."

The line went silent without going dead. When the man spoke again, his voice was cautious. "Did you…?"

"I killed them. Kitty quickly. Robbie less so." His voice didn't crack or waver, though Alex felt like maybe it should have. His hands were shaking, and his knees trembled as they carried him away from the man who had taken everything in his life away from him.

"Then why are you calling me?"

"You were the one who made the driver's license for me, right?"

"Well, yeah, but what does that matter? It's not like you need another from me when you can just get a real one once you're back home." Alex realized then the tone of Jace's voice came from crying. He should have recognized it sooner; he'd heard it often enough in his own voice.

"I'm not going home. Jace, what happened?" Did he care? Maybe. Whatever was bothering Jace could have been what pulled Rob and Kitty away in time for Alex to save Puck.

"It's Todd. He… oh, fuck. Nothing. No one knows the name on that license; you can still use it."

"Can you get me a social security card too?" Alex would probably need a number to get a job, and if he gave his real one, Burt might have been able to track him down.

"That's not as easy as a fake ID, and they usually come with names."

"Just tell me if you can do it." Alex was surprised by how angry he sounded. All he felt was tired.

"Give me a few days. Keep Kitty's phone on you, and I'll call."

Alex nodded even though Jace couldn't see him. "Is Todd… is he alive?" He still didn't know if he cared or not.

Jace hung up.

Alex kept walking. He wanted to get as far from Rob as possible and dedicated the last few hours of the night to moving. After a couple hours of probably illegal rest on a park bench, the countertenor started walking again and passed by a small theater. He doubled back. It was a real theater, not just a modern movie theater. He had always dreamed of traveling to a real city, working in a little theater just like this one, and eventually moving on to become a real Broadway star. Enough of his dreams had died. Would this one too?

"Hey, hey, I know that look."

The voice made Alex jump and curse himself silently. Hadn't he learned by bow to pay some fucking attention?

A girl, probably in her late twenties, approached Alex from the theater, grinning innocently enough. "Sorry, I didn't mean to scare you." She offered her hand; Alex shook it. "Megan Oursler. Call me Meg. You want to come in? I'm here covering one of something like five people who couldn't be bothered to work today. I bet the boss'll be happy for the help." Her smile was nice. Alex had forgotten what that looked like. He nodded. "So what's your name?"

"Alex."

Meg smiled again. "Just Alex?" So she was one of those full-name people. The way she introduced herself probably should have given it away.

"Alex Hood."

"Hood? Very spooky and theatrical, actually. You'll fit right in. Though it would flow better with Alexander. It feels cropped as is."She laughed lightly.

"I assume someone's told you by now that you're a bit strange." Not the weirdest Alex had known by far, but Alex was pretty sure he'd heard people just ignored everyone else in New York. He wasn't used to feeling like someone was trying to take him under their wing, but that was definitely the vibe he got from Meg.

"Well, sure. Don't worry though, Alex; I don't let it go to my head."

The theater's owner made it clear he considered Alex a volunteer, but Meg treated him more like a trainee. Somehow she got Alex to admit to recent homelessness and offered the countertenor a place to stay. This sort of thing, Alex knew, didn't just happen, especially not to people who didn't deserve it in the least. Or maybe it only happened to people who didn't deserve it. Certainly enough good, decent, deserving people suffered without having earned an ounce of their pain. Alex stopped thinking about it and tried not to focus on how it felt more comfortable if he lay at night with his arms above his head rather than at his sides.

When he heard from Jace again, Alex was still living in Meg's apartment and working for free at the theater. He was also still fingering the pocketknife he kept on him at all times, freaking out in crowds, and sleeping little more than two hours a night. It was fucking stupid. If he could handle a psychopath like Robbie, then everyday life should be easy.

Jace wanted to meet in a coffee shop. It was public enough for Alex, so he agreed. A lot of places were closed for Christmas Eve, including the theater where Alex now kind of not really worked, but coffee shops knew better. He found Jace sitting at a small table near one of the windows. The blonde's eyes were red, and his hands twitched in his lap.

"You look like shit," Alex said as he sat across from the older man.

"You too, princess." He pulled something from his breast pocket and passed it over. "There. It'll work for you. Don't ask me how; I'm too magical and wondrous for you to comprehend with your puny human mind. Now leave me the fuck alone, okay."

"You never answered me. About Todd." Alex still hadn't decided if he cared, but he was curious.

"Fuck about Todd. He's not your business." Jace jerked his eyes away from Kurt's and stared at the floor.

"Is 'about Todd' why Robbie and Kitty left in such a hurry that night?" The shop was starting to fill up. Alex tried to keep his hands from shaking the way Jace's did and let one of them slip into his pocket to stroke the pocketknife Puck had returned to him.

The blonde's head bobbed in a jerky and hesitant affirmative. "I…" He stared at his hands. "I thought he would help."

"Well didn't he? He certainly rushed to your side." The countertenor's eyes darted from person to person. He knew he was looking for threats even though he knew there weren't any. Jace was probably the most dangerous person there, even if he did look little more than broken and small right now.

"The fuckface rushed over all right. So he could pass a bullet through my baby's lips before any words Rob didn't like had a chance to pass the other way." The last came out in a growl. Alex didn't know how to respond to that, but Jace kept talking anyway. "My Todd was no fucking squealer, but that's how Robin takes—took—care of things. Of people. You're lucky, Alex; you killed the son of a bitch before you found out what it was like to be on his team."

What the hell did he mean by 'before'?

Jace left while Alex sat frozen by words colder than the winter winds. Robin hadn't expected Alex to _work with him_ , had he? That was fucking stupid. The countertenor left the coffee shop and began the walk back to Meg's apartment.

Robbie hadn't recruited Alex; he had kidnapped the boy. He hadn't trained Alex—

But sort of he had. Could that be what the hell was up with teaching his captive to memorize floor layouts and escape routes ? Could he have ordered Kitty to teach the boy to fight so he could operate as part of their team? Could he—

Rob had fucking raped him. He kidnapped, beat, raped, and tortured Alex. That wasn't how you went about picking up recruits. That was how Robin played with his toys before he killed them—

Except he never killed Alex. He almost did when the boy didn't want to kill Jack, but he hadn't. And, fuck, what if he wanted to turn his prisoner into a murderer, to turn him into a criminal. To make him part of—

Alex ducked into an alley before he collapsed. When he blinked the blurriness from his eyes, it came out as water, as tears. His hands and knees hurt from the fall, but he'd had worse. He needed to stand up and walk the rest of the way back to the apartment where he could pretend to sleep until he stopped shaking. But his legs wouldn't move except to collapse further, letting his butt fall to the cement. He leaned against the wall and felt the tears flow down his cheeks though the knot in his chest wasn't the kind that felt like crying.

Stockholm Syndrome. Alex had heard of it. Robin probably had too.

He was still wearing the clothes Robbie gave him. Of course he was; he didn't have any others. But when Meg had offered to take him shopping for something that wasn't 'black and depressing,' Alex refused. He told her he didn't have any money for clothes and ignored it when she heavily implied she'd be the one paying. He rubbed his cold fingers against the legs of his black skinny jeans. A reasonable person would have gone with Meg, especially since he only had three pairs of clothes.

Alex pulled his knees to his chest and wrapped his arms around them. He didn't want to be something Robin Banks had made of him. But his fucking _name_ was something he used because of Rob. The rest of his identity may as well be too.

"Merry fucking Christmas, Alex. You're a freak now too." Putting it into words helped because the sound of them made him angry. He stood and finished the walk to Meg's.

She grinned warmly when he came in and offered him a mug of what turned out to be hot coco. "Have a nice walk?" Meg dropped herself onto the couch without appearing clumsy or spilling her coco.

Alex shrugged. "Not really." He hung up his coat.

"Usually it helps if you don't fall on your ass and get your fancy coat dirty." She pointed at the jacket, and Kurt brushed the dirt off its bottom.

He sat beside her on the coach and sipped at his coco. It should have felt homey and peaceful, but Alex just wished Meg would go out somewhere so he could be alone.

"You wanna tell me what's wrong?" She arched an eyebrow and stared at Alex over her mug.

"Not really." He turned his eyes away to stare into the steam rising from his drink.

"C'mon, Al, you're paying me rent in words until I can convince the boss man to hire you. So dish some up and tell me what's wrong."

"That is the strangest attempt at getting someone to open up I've ever heard."

"Just you wait until it starts to work. Then you'll know we're crazy." She grinned but the smile fell off when she noticed Alex flinch. "Alex, please talk to me."

"You remember I told you about Robbie?"

Meg nodded. She thought Robbie (no last name) was Alex's ex-boyfriend. She thought they had been traveling the country until they broke up for a reason Alex hadn't mentioned, leaving the countertenor homeless and stranded.

"Did I mention he was a fucking psychopath?"

"No, but the way you don't sleep hinted at it."

He flinched again and took a large swallow of coco. It was too hot, but whatever. "Well, I'm pretty sure I'm insane too."

"I'm pretty sure you're not."

"I'm pretty sure I miss him." And if that wasn't insane and fucked up, then Robin Banks was an alpaca.

"I'm pretty sure that's normal."

"It's not." Well, Meg thought he had been with Robin because he wanted to. Maybe that made a difference.

"Look, I don't know for sure anything you don't tell me, but I can tell he hurt you. And I think you're here more because you ran the hell away than because you had a peaceful, mutual breakup. Even if he was terrible the whole time you knew him, you were still together. And now you're not. It's normal to want something you used to have."

It was scary how right Meg was, especially considering how much Alex had lied to her about his history with Robin. He didn't answer, but despite what she said, Alex was pretty sure Meg didn't need him to. He didn't deny anything. That had to be enough. When she scooted over to hug him lightly, Alex knew that it was.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Meg was originally a guy named Sidney. Easiest rewrite ever 'cause all I did was change the name and gender-specific pronouns. I think Kurt has saved enough female characters that I wanted one who existed solely to help him, to balance things out. I like her; dunno if you will.
> 
> It's hard to remember not to type "Kurt."


	28. Puck: Come Home with Me

The papers said Banks was dead, but Kurt had never called. Puck didn't know what to do with himself, so he continued living out of his mom's car and trying to find Kurt. It sucked ass, but it was better than running back home now that he had found and lost Kurt again.

He fidgeted in his seat and smiled apologetically at the older woman next to him when he bumped her elbow. In trying to find Kurt, Puck had realized that the boy's goal in life was pretty much to come to New York and become a star on Broadway. So he'd begun looking for him in plays and musicals, mostly in smaller theaters because no one would have heard of Kurt yet. Puck searched for anyone with the names Kurt, Alex, or Alexander and used his mom's credit card to buy tickets for the shows he hoped to find his friend at.

Puck wanted to tell himself 'maybe this time,' but it seemed unlikely. It was too good a part. Not the lead because Kurt simply wasn't masculine enough for most male leads, but still a good part. Still, Puck wasn't ready to risk not finding Kurt because he had underestimated the boy's talents. Because even if no one had heard of him, Kurt was damn good. And Puck was desperate. He would try everything he could think of.

The musical started, and some girl sang something about something. Puck didn't pay attention. Someone joined her onstage with a stupid costume on, but Puck couldn't even tell from this distance if it was a girl or a guy. It'd be tall for a girl, but hey, some girls were tall.

When the second person started singing, it sounded like a girl, but Puck knew it wasn't. It was Kurt. He had too crappy a seat for a decent look at the boy's face, but Puck was certain. He had found Kurt. Now how the hell was he going to get backstage? And what the hell had convinced Kurt that Hood was a cool last name?

Through the rest of the musical, Puck fidgeted and bumped the elbow of the woman beside him. She seemed pretty annoyed by it at the end, but he dashed off almost before the curtains had closed. He needed to find Kurt.

There was a guard or security personnel or whatever blocking the way to getting backstage, and Puck, for once, couldn't flirt his way through. He cursed and waited outside near the parking lot instead. If he was lucky, he wouldn't miss Kurt. If he wasn't lucky… well, Puck hoped he hadn't used up all his luck in getting away from Banks.

He hadn't. Kurt was leaving on foot with an auburn-haired woman. Puck hurried to catch up to them.

"Kurt, wait."

The countertenor turned stiffly, and the woman with him looked confused. Oh, yeah, she would know him as Alexander.

"Why did you stay here? I told you to call me so I could take you back home." He held up both hands in a gesture that he hoped made him look harmless because Kurt seemed ready to bolt.

"Are you that fucktard Robbie?" Whoever she was, Kurt's new friend positioned herself between the boys from Lima. At least he'd found someone who would protect him.

"Hell no." He'd have laughed if it weren't so scary a thought that it left him scowling fiercely instead. "I'm Puck. Robbie is… long gone." What had Kurt told her? Something, obviously, but not the truth.

"It's okay, Meg," Kurt said, sounding resigned. "Puck's okay." He turned to Puck then. "It's cold here. Come one, we'll talk at Meg's place, if that's okay." She nodded but definitely continued giving Puck the stink eye.

Meg's apartment was small but clean. It looked like the kind of place Kurt would be comfortable in, but before the Kurt took over and redecorated phase. Kurt sat on the big brown couch, and Meg lounged over the rest of it. Puck sat on the floor because he didn't feel much like standing.

No one spoke for a while. Eventually, Meg cut through the silence with a frown. "I'll go first then. Two questions: Who's a Puck, and why do you know Alex as Kurt?"

"I'm a Puck." That much was pretty obvious. "I go to school with Kurt, and that's his real name, by the way. I still don't know what the hell is up with the other."

She looked to Kurt for confirmation, but the countertenor stayed quiet and studied his nails.

"Fine," Puck said, "I'll go next then. Same question as before: why didn't you call me and come home? Your dad's a mess, you know. Everyone is."

Kurt didn't answer.

"You sure you're not his boyfriend?"

Puck frowned and scratched maybe a little too hard at the back of his neck. "I'm straight. And painfully single. The guy he told you about wasn't his boyfriend either. Just a sick freak who took Kurt who knows where."

Kurt made a strangled sound, but he shouldn't have worried so much; Puck wasn't about to say more than that.

Meg caught the warning as easily as Puck had though. The way her eyes narrowed and darted back and forth between the boys from Lima made it obvious she had caught on in a big way. She knew Puck knew more than she knew about what Kurt knew about Banks. Though she didn't even know his name was Banks. She had asked about Robbie. It still made Puck kind of want to puke that Kurt called the man that. It was a fucking _pet name_ , however the countertenor tried to explain it away.

"If Alex isn't his real name, then his ID is fake. So how old is my baby-faced roommate?" It was a surprisingly practical and simple question. But maybe this Meg was just smart enough not to dive in with 'so what form of abuse has my roommate suffered?' or 'where does he live?'

"Seventeen."

"Puck!"

"And he just proved me right." He smirked. "What does the ID say?"

"Twenty-two."

"Meg!"

"I see what you mean by proof. He's so… bad at hiding indignation."

Puck chuckled. "And you believed it, the ID?"

"Apparently not. How old are _you?_ " It was just flirty enough that she was probably trying to get more information out of him. Fine, she could have it.

"Same age. We're classmates."

"Where at?"

"High school." He held up his hand. "You'll have to ask Kurt for the rest. He's already giving me a fucking convincing death glare." Puck didn't know her well enough to trust Meg with the information she'd need to stalk them home either. And they _were_ going home. He just hadn't figured out how to convince Kurt of that just yet.

Meg nodded and turned back to the silent boy beside her. "Alex, is your name really Kurt?"

"My name is whatever I tell people to call me by. But, yes, the one my parents gave me is Kurt." He crossed his arms and legs in a way that looked defensive.

"Why did you change it?" Puck was glad Meg had asked; he wanted to know too.

"Because I decided the old one didn't fit right anymore." Kurt looked uncomfortable. He even looked a little scared. Puck wanted to stop it, to make his friend feel better, but he couldn't. He wanted to know, and he felt sure that Kurt would only come home after Puck had learned enough to argue him into it.

"Because of what Robbie did to you?" Meg's voice, playful before, had turned softer than silk. The sound of it had a delicacy to it that Puck couldn't quite grasp.

Kurt nodded and pulled his knees up. His shoes were on the couch, but Meg didn't say anything. When Kurt spoke, his voice was even quieter and more fragile than Meg's. "Because of what he made me."

"I've only known you for just over a week," she said as she moved over on the couch to put an arm around Kurt. "But I know you're a good person." There was more to the thought, but she didn't say it. Puck didn't know why until he realized maybe she knew too little to realize the rest.

He finished it for her: "Whatever he tried to make you, he failed." Kurt had said Banks forced him to have sex with someone before, but Puck could tell Kurt hadn't wanted to. Something told him Banks had wanted more than grudging obedience from Kurt. The thing he would have changed Kurt into would have _wanted_ to tie Puck up and screw him against his will.

Kurt glanced at Puck but pulled his eyes away to stare at a spot of nothing on the floor. "Maybe I'm not what he wanted, but I'm still not the same."

"Do you love your dad?"

"What?"

"Do you lo—"

"Of course I do." Kurt frowned. "What does that have to do with anything?

Puck turned to Kurt's roommate. "Does he still sing, and is he maybe a little arrogant about just how good he is?"

"Yup, but he's good enough to get away with it too. Unless the neighbors are trying to sleep. Then nothing's good enough." She rolled her eyes in what had to be exasperation at her neighbors.

"And I know he's only been here since Monday night or Tuesday morning last week, but he's been a good friend to you, hasn't he?"

"Yeah, um, that's a rather specific timeframe."

Puck sighed. Kurt offered no answer, so the jock went on. "I helped him get away, but we got separated. That's why he was supposed to call me. I've been trying to find him since then."

Meg poked Kurt on the arm. It didn't look forceful, but she kept doing it in a way that had to be annoying. "You shouldn't worry people like that. What would you have done if I hadn't found you?"

Kurt shrugged.

"I see. Your master plan astounds me, kid. Do your parents have any idea where you are?"

"Wait, wait, wait," Puck cut in. "I wasn't finished. I was making a point. Kurt, some things about you may have changed, but that's what people do. Things happen and they change. The parts that matter and make you who you are though, they're the same. Okay, point made. Carry on. Oh, and no, no one knows where he is."

"So you get away from the guy who dragged you around the country, but you don't even let your dad know you're alive?" Her voice should have sounded angrier based on the words, but mostly she sounded sad.

"He probably guessed by now."

"How?" Oh, yeah, she didn't know about the, uh, body.

"I sent something like a letter."

"About that," Puck ran a hand over his mohawk. "They could think it was me. I did sort of leave a little before that happened, and, um, I haven't exactly called anyone either. And where else would I have been going but to find you?"

"To join the circus." It wasn't the best insult Kurt had ever sent Puck's way, but everyone had a bad day every once in a while. Kurt's days had been mostly bad for a long time now.

"Wow, so you're both adolescent morons who have left your families to suffer without even a hint as to whether or not you're alive?"

Puck nodded. Kurt stared at the wall.

"Why didn't you go home?" Meg's voice had gone soft again. "Is it the same reason you changed your name?"

Kurt nodded without bringing his eyes to hers.

"I don't know your family, but I bet they'll accept you no matter how you think you've changed. They'll just be glad to have you back, especially if they're even a little like your friend here."

"The lady's right," Puck added.

"Don't call me a lady; it makes me feel old."

She looked about twenty-seven, which was a lot older than a couple of teenagers. "How old are you?"

She shoved her chin up and stared down her nose at him in an obvious parody of high societal behavior. "It's rude to ask a lady her age." She paused and cocked her head. "I just did that didn't I?"

Puck chuckled. "So can I call you a lady now?"

"Have at it, whippersnapper."

He turned back to Kurt to find the countertenor was trying to hide the beginnings of a smile. "Come home with me, Kurt. Please."

"Puck's right, you know. You should go home. But if you don't, you'll still have someplace to stay." Meg smiled encouragingly. Puck was beginning to think if things didn't work out with Quinn… that way led dangerous thoughts. He avoided them for the moment.

"You don't understand. Neither of you does. You can't."

"We could if you told us the parts we don't have yet. But I swear to you, it won't change you for the worse to go home. And even if you leave, I'll still be here. You can come back here as easily as you can go back there. Wherever there is."

"Ohio."

"No wonder you stayed."

Kurt smiled a little. "It makes a difference that you don't know. What if I slip? What if someone finds out? What…" he turned away.

"No one will care. No one who matters." Puck believed it, and he tried to pour that belief into his voice. It came out sounding choked with it.

"It will! You don't understand. I can't live there again. It won't work."

"You don't know until you try." Meg had way better control of her voice than Puck did. It was perfect.

"I do know. You're the ones who don't."

"Then prove it." Puck stood up and brushed off the seat of his pants. "You can't convince us by telling us what's wrong, so convince us by completely and utterly failing at living at home."

Kurt scowled. The expression looked foreign on his face. "Fine. I will. And then I'll run away from Ohio and never look back because you were all too stupid to leave me alone." His voice echoed the harshness of his words, but Puck didn't care. He was bringing Kurt home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not sure it makes sense in text, but when Puck says 'body,' all he means is 'body.' The police have kept the rest of it under wraps so far.


	29. Alex: That Name Again

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song: Neil Diamond's "Dry Your Eyes." Is good song, but I only used a little of it.

Puck and Alex had stayed the night at Meg's and waited to begin the drive to Lima until the next morning. They still wouldn't arrive until eight or nine. Puck had wanted to call ahead, but Alex stopped him by saying everyone would be up late and gathered together for New Year's Eve anyway. He still didn't want to go. He still thought maybe he'd change his mind.

"This food is shit," he said and hoped it would annoy Puck into kicking him out of the car even though he knew it wouldn't.

"Yeah, but it's cheap."

Puck wouldn't let Alex drive. He said he'd made the drive up, so going back down wouldn't be any worse.

"Sorry I pulled you away from having a real part in a real musical." Puck smiled in a way he probably thought was charming. "But, hey, you can always audition for more parts after you graduate."

"You're assuming I'll be able to get a part again." And that he would graduate.

"Well you got this one. It's like proof that you're as good as you keep telling us you are."

"Puck, I got this part by sleeping with the guy in charge of casting."

"Oh." Puck's eyes darted over the road nervously. "That's fucked up, man."

"You think?" He took a bite of his burger to avoid having to say more.

The jock fiddled with the radio but couldn't find a decent working station. "We'll be in Lima pretty soon," he said once he had given up on finding music. "Will you text Quinn for me? Just to ask where she is." The quick glance he shot at Alex said 'you don't have to mention yourself, so stop glowering' clearly enough.

Alex shrugged and texted her. She replied almost immediately, and he read it out for Puck, "Finn's. Where are you?"

"Say, 'About an hour and a half from Finn's.'"

Alex did. Then he dropped the phone back into Puck's lap. When another text came in, he declined to check it.

"You can do… it? It doesn't freak you out?"

A few times already Alex had pretended to be confused to avoid answering Puck. This time he really was lost. "Come again?"

"Sex."

"Oh. Why not? It's as much a tool as my voice." He managed not to flinch. He had used it as a tool, but it didn't feel much like one.

Puck frowned. "I don't believe any of that. Sex may not mean much to me or Santana, but I know it does to you. And your voice is more than just a tool."

"Sex seemed like something special and important back when I was a virgin. Now I know it's just something bodies do." Lying had gotten easy. He had freaked out while having sex after killing Robin, even though the guy was nice and even kind of cute, if a little on the chubby side. Luckily, only Alex himself had noticed. He could lie about plenty of things now.

"Fuck."

Alex didn't know if Puck meant it for an argument or not, so he ignored the expletive. They remained silent the rest of the drive. The shaking in his hands and knees didn't start until Puck pulled up in front of the house Alex could remember having lived in. It wasn't his house. It was Kurt's house, and he wasn't Kurt anymore.

Quinn had obviously been watching for Puck because she ran out from the house before the jock had a chance to open Alex's door and force him out of the car. She reached the boy and threw her arms around him just after he had opened the passenger door. Then she turned her head to see what Puck was looking at instead of her.

"Oh God, Kurt."

He slammed the door back shut and locked it. Alex didn't want to deal with these people. With crying and 'welcome home's and everyone calling him by a name he didn't want to use anymore. Puck had the keys, so it was a useless gesture. The jock just unlocked the door and pulled Kurt out with Quinn's help.

Some of the others were coming out of the house now. They had already begun to exclaim Puck's name (how long had he been gone?), but their voices fell when Alex cam into sight. Then Mercedes rushed to him crying and Rachel darted back into the house. When Rachel returned, Mercedes was still clinging to Alex and babbling incoherently. Puck and Quinn had moved out of the way.

Behind Rachel came Finn, Carol, and Burt. Fuck, it was Burt. His father. What was he supposed to do around Burt? The man would expect to find his son, not the husk Robbie had left behind. Alex tried to pull away from Mercedes and run for it, but Finn reached his side before he could and began dragging Alex to the house.

"Oh, thank God. Kurt, I was so…" Burt choked on tears he didn't want to let out and finished the sentence by throwing his arms around the boy. Alex trembled and tried not to move too much. Their hugs felt like restraints.

Everyone talked to him, but all at once. He couldn't understand most of it, but it all amounted to 'Welcome home. Thank the God you don't believe in that you're back. We missed you. Kurt. Kurt. Kurt.'

It felt wrong to be called by that name again.

They dragged him inside, set him on the couch, and piled themselves all around him. Puck sat on Alex's right because he had brought him home. Burt sat on his left side because he was the boy's father.

"How did you find him?" It was the first coherent thing anyone had said. Strangely, it came in Rachel's voice.

Puck shrugged and looked at Alex. He couldn't know how much Alex wanted to share yet, and at least he had the decency not to give it all away. "Luck, mostly," he said.

Everyone went silent after that. No one wanted to ask the next question, but they all wanted to know which of them had killed Robin. At this point it should have been obvious; Puck would only have written that if Rob had literally killed Kurt Hummel.

Finally Tina licked her lips and asked, "Wh-which of you…?"

Alex declined to answer. "I thought your stutter was fake." He crossed his arms but kept his feet spaced so he could get up and run for it if they gave him a chance.

"Everyone stutters sometimes." She turned her eyes to the floor.

Alex frowned. Everyone was still staring at him. Some of them didn't look as happy as before. Well, fucking good. Maybe he could prove his point to Puck sooner than he thought. "It was me." He said. "Puck wasn't even there at the time."

No one had a response to that. He hadn't expected them to.

"Where did you stay for the week and a half since… then? Both of you, actually." Quinn had decent control over her voice, but she still sounded nervous.

Puck answered when Alex didn't. "I stayed in my mom's car. Kurt was with a nice lady named Meg. She works in a theater and apparently found him staring longingly at it." He tried to smile and make it funny but failed. Everyone had noticed by now that "Kurt" wasn't happy to be "home."

"Is that how you found him too? By scoping out theaters?" Carol was the first of the family to recover. Well, she had always been more of a friend than a mother.

Puck nodded. "I didn't really think it would work, but Kurt's strangely predictable enough that it did."

What was that Alex smelled? A poorly concealed attempt to make him feel like he was still the same show tunes-loving boy who left Lima? Fuck, but Puck was a moron.

"I'd rather be called Alex." He managed not to flinch when he felt Burt pull away in shock. That had been his intent; it shouldn't have bothered him so much.

"Kurt," Puck stretched the name into a plea and a warning. And unintentionally an accusation.

Alex shook his head.

Some of the girls were crying again silently. They understood well enough then.

Finn didn't. "What the hell, Kurt. It's your name; why would you say you want another one?" He looked like an oversized puppy that had just been kicked until it fell, then kicked some more.

"I just don't feel like Kurt anymore." He hadn't for a while now.

Burt forced another embrace on Alex as he lost control over his oh so fucking fatherly tears. "You don't have to feel like anything. You'll always be my son, no matter what, and I'll always love you for it."

It was exactly the sort of thing that used to make him feel better, exactly the sort of thing Burt had always said to him. Said to Kurt. All it made Alex feel was uncomfortable.

Everyone went silent again. There were still questions no one had the courage to ask. Since they were the same questions Alex lacked the patience (or courage) to answer, he let them wait. He tried to scoot as far from Burt as possible, but Puck refused to give him any extra space. The older Hummel kept his hold on the countertenor anyway.

"When you were gone," Puck cut through the awkward gap in conversation, "Mr. Schuester wanted everyone to sing for you. I told him it was stupid because you weren't around to hear it, but you are now. So…" He shrugged before leaving the room and returned tuning a guitar a few moments later.

Most of the others stared at Puck like he'd grown a wart on his nose, so Alex wasn't the only one unused to having _Noah Puckerman_ be the guy to smooth out any situation at all ever. The jock didn't seem to notice even though he looked at everyone before beginning, like he wanted them to feel included in his song somehow.

_Dry your eyes and take your song out  
It's a newborn afternoon  
And if you can't recall the singer  
You can still recall the tune  
_

Alex heard the plea in the song. 'Please stay here with us,' it said, 'Please learn to be Kurt Hummel again because we can't live without him any longer.' It pissed Alex off so that he almost didn't notice when the song continued, 'Please don't cry for the loss of him. Whatever he calls himself, Kurt has come home to us. Show him he can live again.' It was nauseating.

Alex scowled, tried to ignore it, and focused on his cuticles instead. He needed a manicure.

_And it was more than being holy  
Oh it was less than being free  
And if you can't recall the reason  
Can you hear the people sing  
_

A few of the others joined their voices with Puck's. Alex knew it was supposed to be something like heartwarming. This was how a glee club welcomed a friend home and told him everything would be alright. Alex avoided meeting their eyes because he didn't feel at home and nothing would be alright. They just didn't know it yet.

_Right through the lightning and the thunder  
To the dark side of the moon  
To that distant falling angel  
That descended much too soon  
And come dry your eyes_

When he had finished, Puck left the guitar leaning against the wall and reclaimed his seat beside Alex. At least he knew enough by now not to smile encouragingly. The others tried it though, and found that all it gained them from Alex was a glare. He needed to make them see that he wasn't their Kurt anymore. And when they did, he would return to New York and live a life that left him feeling less smothered and trapped than this one did.


	30. Burt: Warmth in His Heart

Burt's son had come home to him. The boy was hurt, angry, and confused, but he was home. It was enough. Burt believed they could work through anything just so long as he had Kurt with him again.

"Fuck all of them. Robbie's already dead. I don't have to do anything else." The boy crossed his arms and tapped his foot impatiently. Burt wondered if Kurt was aware of the ugly sneer he wore on his face now.

The older man sighed and ran a hand over his head, back and then forward again. "You need to give the police a statement. That's all, just a statement, and then we can come home again. You know you won't be charged with anything." He didn't have much practice keeping his voice soft, but Burt tried anyway. He wanted his son to feel safe again.

It broke his heart that Kurt clearly didn't feel at home here.

The boy turned his head, and Burt found himself facing the scar again. It was a thin, but dark thing that wound up from the collar of Kurt's shirt and stopped along the right side of his jaw. Just seeing it made Burt want to wring Banks' neck. But the man was already dead, and Kurt needed his father to support him, not go off hunting after people who had hurt the boy.

Even though Burt knew about them in an abstract sort of way, he hadn't seen Kurt's other scars. Puck had told him what was under Kurt's arm warmers but just shrugged and looked away rather than telling the boy's father what else to expect. Burt was worried because his son refused to share with him. He knew it was hard and Kurt would need time, but he wanted so badly to help. Not being able to help his own child left Burt feeling useless and unwanted.

"Please, son," he said. Kurt glanced at him for just a second before turning away again. Usually, Burt made a point of calling his boy by name because he wanted Kurt to be used to it again. But it always put Kurt's defenses up. Calling him 'son' instead seemed to soften his resolve. Kurt still remembered his family and connections; he was just clearly afraid to admit to them again.

"All I have to do is say I killed them?"

"They probably want to know how you did it too." Burt was curious, but the details were unimportant next to the scars, physical and mental, the now-dead psychopath had left Kurt with.

The younger Hummel scowled. "They know how."

"I mean how you armed yourself. Son, you don't have to tell me if you don't want to. I can wait outside."

The scowl fell off and left Kurt looking tiny and scared. Burt wanted to hold his son and say everything would be okay and he would always love him. In that moment, he decided not to ask Kurt about what had happened. The boy was afraid of him knowing; his expression made that clear enough.

"Will they ask about… about before too?" Kurt asked, wrapping his arms around himself.

Burt nodded. "I expect so, but you don't have to tell them more than you're comfortable with. They only need the big picture, not the details, okay?"

Kurt stood up. "Okay." He grabbed the black jacket he had come home with from the coat rack and let Burt lead him to the car.

Burt waited in a hard chair with a little paper cup of water while Kurt spoke to the police. He shifted his weight awkwardly and wished he could be with his boy now. Kurt could be hurting, having to relive the most painful time of his life, while Burt sat around uselessly. It felt like waiting had, except for the warm glow that filled him every time Burt thought the words, "Kurt is home."

When Kurt came back out, led by one of the officers who he had been speaking to, the teen was trembling. He looked ready to break into tears, and Burt rushed over to trap him in a hug. He tried not to squeeze too tight.

"You're okay, son?"

The only answer Kurt gave was to bite his lip and nod.

"Is that it then? We can go home now?" Burt asked of the officer.

"Yes, sir. And thank you, Kurt." The officer nodded to Kurt before walking away.

Burt drove his son home. Kurt leaned his forehead against the window pane and cried. When they reached the house, the boy went straight to his room. Puck had been waiting around with some of the other kids and looked ready to follow, but Burt stopped him.

"Just give him a few minutes to cry it out and clean himself up, okay?"

Puck nodded. Burt would always be grateful to the boy for bringing his son home to him, but Puck clearly didn't know the difference between when someone needed space and when they needed company. To be honest, Burt didn't know either a lot of the time.

"Doesn't your mom ever worry with you here so much instead of at home?" he asked to fill the silence.

The teen shrugged. "At least I'm still in town."

"I guess there's that." He put his hands in his pockets and watched the way Puck's eyes kept darting to the basement door. Burt didn't remember the jock spending much time with Kurt before the kidnapping, but he was glad his son had him as a friend now anyway. The kid had to be more than a little off in the head to have chased after Robin Banks like he did, but it worked out better than alright. Noah Puckerman had brought Kurt home. Burt smiled just a little. "Go on. Just leave if he asks you to, okay. He's had a hard day."

"'Kay, Mr. Hummel," Puck called, but he had already made it halfway into Kurt's room.

Burt went to the kitchen to find Carol. He needed to tell her how it went at the police station, and then they needed to figure out dinner. Even though they still had a lot to handle and work through as a family, Burt felt the warmth in his heart surge through him again. His son was home at last.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know nothing about police stations or protocol, so just assume any and all paperwork was filled in between the lines. There's a great big gap where it would fit.


	31. Alex: A Damaged Version

A few more days here would drive him mad. Alex suspected he already was at least a little mad, but the way these people simpered over him could only make it worse. And they kept calling him Kurt. He didn't want to be Kurt. Or he didn't want Kurt to be him. Something like that. He ran a hand through his hair and groaned because he had _just_ combed it. Fuck, it was hard to remember things like that sometimes. Alex wasn't used to it.

Someone knocked at the door. There wasn't a lock on it, but they all knocked for him. All it took was pseudo-hysterical screaming and a mostly-faked attempt to claw Finn's eyes out.

"Fuck off," he shouted. How much longer would he stay? At first, he'd thought until they stopped trying or caring, but some of them (Burt) never would.

"It's Puck," the answer came from behind the door. Alex had made his deal with Puck, so he would measure his stay by Puck. Once the jock believed Alex was a lost cause, and not just a damaged version of his Kurt Hummel, then the countertenor could leave.

The door opened. Alex hadn't said Puck could come in, but he hadn't shouted a second time either. Puck usually took that as an invitation even though the others would have left. Why the fuck should he be so special?

Because he had been taken too. Even if Robbie hadn't gotten to do everything he wanted, he had started. Puck had seen Alex's scars. Puck knew what Robin did to him. He knew more than anyone else because the countertenor never even hinted at Jack again.

Puck wasn't so special. Annette had been raped and scarred. Sally had watched Rob as he raped someone else and feared he would do the same to her. Jack had been raped and killed. Puck had been, what, embarrassed and a little scared? He got off easy.

As the jock sat beside him on the bed, Alex made no other sign of recognition but to scowl at the wall he had been staring at for the past hour.

"I think they're scared you're going to freak out in a homicidal kind of way. Finn only has one scratch on his face, but the way he keeps fingering it all wide-eyed, he's gonna have nightmares of a Kurt-piranha or something trying to eat his face." Puck leaned back so he lounged on the bed. "They also warned me not to come down here, and I think they were serious."

Alex nodded. "They fucking were, moron. You just missed our episode of When Rape Victims Attack."

"Was that supposed to be clever?"

"Not particularly." Alex pulled his knees up to his chest and tried to think of how to scare Puck off. He'd gotten brave since Robin got dead. That hint of fear Alex remembered seeing in the motel room had disappeared.

"How long do you think it usually takes a girl to 'find herself'?"

"What the fuck does that have to do with anything?" And why would he ask it of Alex even if it were relevant?

"Nothing. I was thinking of asking your friend Meg though. Such a distinguished lady could probably pop out advice like a PEZ dispenser does candy, right?" He seemed so… laid back and in control. It seemed more than a little wrong. Puck was supposed to be a mess. A delinquent. That kid who tried to act cool and tough because he didn't know any other way to deal with the world.

"Is this about Quinn again? Seriously, Puck, just because you only recently learned to talk about relationships and your feelings in general does not mean I want to hear about them. Why don't you go practice a speech in front of a mirror. It's the only audience likely to be interested in your babbling."

"I got tired of watching myself make a fool of myself to myself." He grinned. "Besides, you got no one else to talk to because they'll give you space for at least another hour or two. You're all mine. Now, dish: why are dating and self-enlightenment or whatever things that have to stay separate."

"'Mutually exclusive' is the phrase you're looking for. And because you're dumb. I wouldn't date you while trying to find myself either." He frowned at his nails because he didn't want to look at the jock sitting beside him.

"You know you're famous?" Puck shrugged and continued when the only response he got was a scowl. "Reporters finally got something on who killed Banks instead of just in general that it happened. They got your name and have since discovered that you returned home safely after two months with that sick freak. They're calling you a survivor and a hero."

"Fucking wonderful." Alex didn't want anyone to call Kurt Hummel anything.

"Did you think the police would let anyone know or not? What you did to the body, I mean. 'Cause so far they haven't. Finn slipped up but won't admit how he knows."

"I didn't do anything to a body. He was still alive."

"Dude, that's fucked up." Strange how only Puck would say that to him. "I know you hate the guy that much, but I thought you cared more for yourself than that."

"I don't see how my self relates to what I did to Robbie. He deserved it. Have you ever seen a murder weapon?" He still kept the knife in his pocket.

"No, and I don't think I want to." Puck sat up and crossed his arms. "It's like, when you shot Garcia, no one had hurt you, but it still messed you up. Is what you did to Banks the reason you want to be Alex instead of Kurt?" He was also the only one who admitted to hearing the name Alex come from the countertenor, even if he refused to use it.

"Maybe it's because you never learned subtlety." Alex knew it would seem unrelated to Puck. He counted on it, but all it got him was a steady stare. Not even a glare, just Puck watching him. It had worked so much better in the first few days before Puck figured out that Alex was just trying to push his buttons. He sighed. "No one else will come out and fucking say anything around me."

"They were the same way when you were gone. It was all soft sighs and hanging sentences." He groaned in a mostly annoyed way. "They wanted to talk about their feelings all the fucking time, but mention what was happening to you right then, and fuck, but they freaked the hell out at me. Like I was some kind of sicko for admitting _why_ they all cried themselves to sleep."

Puck seemed more like himself as Alex expected him to be while he complained, even if the act of sharing should have been more foreign to the jock.

"If you're so keen on admitting facts," Alex asked, "then why do you still insist I should stay in Lima?"

Puck frowned. "You family is here. Everyone upstairs may be a pile of sappy idiots, but they love you. And it nearly killed them to lose you. It's still killing them because you're too scared to tell them you aren't lost anymore."

"I'm not scared." Alex didn't expect to lash out until his fist swung into Puck's cheek. It was too late to take it back.

"You don't have nightmares?" The jock rubbed at his cheek as he reclaimed his seat but otherwise didn't react to the blow even though it had knocked him back. It made Alex want to punch him again.

"You know I do. I'm used to them." As much as it was possible to be used to nightmares. Mostly Alex was used to not sleeping.

"They still scare you."

Alex laughed. "Not half so much as the other dreams do." No part of him liked admitting to how fucked up he was now, but maybe that explained why Alex was still stuck in Lima. He couldn't be Kurt anymore because he was too screwed up for that. How had he expected to show Puck the first part but not the last? "I don't just have nightmares about him, you know. Most nights I have a dream about Robbie that I wake up from hot and sticky and still _so_ hard even though I never was for the fucker while he lived." He barely managed not to shiver thinking about it.

Puck stared at the countertenor like he'd grown a second head and tentacles. Alex should have tried this sooner.

"You remember earlier when I said 'that's fucked up'? Well, I take it back. This is." He rubbed his arms like he was cold for a moment before placing a hand on Alex's shoulder. "I don't know if I'm supposed to say something now. So, did you tell your therapist or whatever?"

"Hell no. I haven't told that woman anything." Burt had called Janice the morning after Alex got to Lima. It was New Year's Day, but she had taken the call and scheduled an appointment. She seemed a lot more annoying than Alex remembered, but so did everyone else.

"Then why'd you tell me?"

"So you can let me go. Admit you were wrong and let me lead my own life instead of the one you've all set up for me."

"It's creepy how that almost sounds reasonable. Except for the part where you had a fake driver's license and social security card, which I'm pretty sure are illegal."

"Oh, yes, because you've never broken the law." Puck had left his hand on Alex's shoulder. It gave the smaller teen an idea. A sick, twisted idea that would probably work only because of how messed up it was. He turned to face the other boy. Even without closing the distance between them, their bodies felt closer this way. "You're trying to act like you know who you are now, suddenly, because you put me in a car and drove me here." The words would keep Puck's attention on Alex's face, leaving his hand free to creep toward the jock. "You didn't save anyone, Puck. You didn't even save yourself." His fingers reached the other boy's inner thigh and steadily moved upward.

When Puck got the idea, he leapt off the bed. "What the hell, Kurt?" He shouted it. He wasn't so in control after all.

Alex followed Puck off the bed. "What? You barge in a boy's room, lie back on his bed, and expect him not to get any ideas?" When Puck stopped to stare at Alex like he'd gone completely insane, it gave the countertenor a chance to grab the taller teen by the belt and pull him forward. He slid his hand easily up Puck's t-shirt to feel the warm, bare skin of his abs.

Puck pushed him away. "Dude, cut it out. You're just trying to scare me off like you did the others. See, I figured it out. Now leave off."

Alex frowned, but he wouldn't be beaten so easily. "What? It never occurred to you that I might actually be interested? Not even a little?" He stepped forward slowly. "You described it yourself the last time you whined to me about your girl problems. You're dead sexy, charming, strong, talented, and passionate. Why don't girls like you? Why doesn't Quinn like you? Why can't _I_ like you?"

"Because you don't. You never have." Puck shrugged. "Though you're right, I can't argue with the rest."

"You mean I didn't. I haven't told you yet, but I gave up. I gave in to Robbie because I believed I could never get away. You changed that, Puck. Even if you couldn't take me when you left, you're the reason I tried to escape again at all. Isn't that enough to change my feelings?" There was enough truth in there that he might even sell Puck on the idea that Alex had feelings for him. It shouldn't be hard since the guy believe everyone should fall for him at some point or another.

Alex pressed himself against Puck. He hadn't been so close to a man since… since using sex to get a part in a stupid fucking musical. Then he hadn't even stayed through the musical's time in the theater—he'd left to come to Lima with Puck. That would be a good argument, actually, if Puck still didn't believe him. Say he came back for Puck, not the rest of them.

Puck fucking _rolled his eyes._ He took hold of Alex's shoulders and used them to push him back. "I'm sure there's a point to this. Can we skip to that part?"

Scowling seemed the most appropriate response besides kicking the jock in the balls. Instead he smiled softly and whispered, "Can I blow you?" He left his lips parted and eyes wide. A guy wouldn't even have to like him to want a free blow job.

"Hell no, dude. I meant the point after the fake point. The real point."

This time, Alex did scowl. "To convince you I'm too fucked up to go back to being Kurt. I'll still suck you off if you want me to though."

"Just say you don't really like me. Please."

Alex laughed harshly. "You know I don't. No one would deny you're hot, but that alone doesn't make you my type." He paused for a moment. "You're smaller than I'd like anyway." He didn't have to say he was measuring the other teen against Robin. Puck's expression made it clear he knew. Maybe this hadn't been a complete waste of time. The wide-eyed, uncomfortable expression on Puck's face looked exactly like progress.


	32. Puck: No One Else

"You… you're good with him," Quinn said to Puck, though her eyes remained fixed on the carrots she was chopping.

"You mean with Kurt?" So far as Puck could tell, no one was good with Kurt, mostly because the countertenor didn't want them to be.

The cheerio nodded though. "Or maybe it's that you're better with him."

Puck frowned and wondered if that meant he was usually worse. "Better than what?"

"Than the mess you were when you were stuck here and helpless."

"Well, yeah," he scoffed, "I was mostly drunk."

He had thought when he returned and Quinn threw her arms around him that they would be together. But he was still single, and Quinn was too. So far, she had avoided being alone with him. They hadn't spoken at all since he got back, and Puck was pretty sure she didn't want to talk now either.

"Is it really just about you?" he asked, bringing his eyes to watch her hands work on the food too. "You just need to focus on yourself, and it has nothing to do with me?"

Quinn sighed and set down the knife. Puck felt a little safer, actually, knowing that she wasn't holding a sharp object. "Puck, you're the reason I feel like I lost track of myself in the first place."

"What does that even mean? 'Lost track of' yourself?"

"I carried a child, Puck, our child. For nine months, she lived inside of my body. I couldn't be just myself for that time; I had to be both of us, mother and child together. Everything I did, even down to what I ate, could have an impact on her."

Puck stared at his feet.

"And she's gone now, Puck, in case you hadn't noticed. I realize you've been busy getting laid, drinking, and risking your life to chase after people you should never have been able to find. I get that. You have your own life, and it needn't intersect with mine. But you could at the very least have the decency to admit that a single night of carelessness with you altered the course of my life forever." She was panting and halfway to tears. "I don't know if I would change it if I could. In some ways, my life is better now. But every day I have to carry the feeling in my heart of giving up my child and of being abandoned by my own daddy; and the knowledge that if not for you, he could still love me."

Puck grabbed Quinn then and pulled her into a hug. "That wasn't about you or me or Beth, and you know it. Your dad should never have kicked you out over a mistake. He's a jackass."

"Well, maybe I didn't have to learn what he is, at least not yet." She leaned into the jock's arms though and cried into his shoulder. "I'm not the same girl I was, but just saying that doesn't tell me who I am now."

"Who do you want to be?"

"I don't know. I only…" She hiccupped and took a long, shaky breath. "I want to be someone my daughter could be proud of, even if it's not someone she'll ever know."

"Baby, if she weren't too young to understand, I know she'd be proud of you. She probably is anyway." He ran his fingers through Quinn's hair and thought that he liked it when she wore it down. It was pretty, and he loved the way it framed her face.

"I… Puck, I can't." She pulled away. "I'm not ready to deal with my feelings for you yet. It's still all too confusing."

"So? Feelings are that way sometimes. It's not that big a deal. I know I love you, and whatever else there is to it, that's enough for me. Why can't it be for you?"

"I don't know if I love you. I think I could, but I also think I could be hurt trying. What I don't know, Puck, is if you're worth it. I've already been hurt so much because of you… What if I can't take anymore?"

"I won't hurt you."

"You won't mean to. It's not the same thing. Puck, you," she paused and ran her fingers through her hair nervously. "You aren't like the other guys I know. I'm not sure what it is; maybe it's the same as what sent you off to New York to chase a man who could easily have killed you while everyone else stayed here. You're different, and sometimes that means it's harder for you to stay with people who aren't."

"I just couldn't stand not doing anything. And it's not like I really expected to do any good." He had almost gotten himself screwed over in much too literal a way. Only a lucky phone call and Kurt had saved Puck from his own stupid rescue mission.

She smiled, but it was sad. "No one else could stand it either, but we didn't do anything about it. Not even Burt or Finn could have run off the way you did. It was insane. And, somehow, it worked out; you brought Kurt back home to his family even though you should have ended up just another guy who got mugged and shot in New York City."

Puck shrugged. "I was lucky, but that doesn't make me insane."

"No one else could have made it work."

"No, they probably could have." He hadn't really done much. Kurt had. "Just no one else tried."

She shook her head. "You really don't get it, Puck, but it's not important. What matters is that Kurt needs you right now. You should be spending your time with him—"

"I do."

"Instead of with me."

"Oh."

"I need space. He needs you with him. I don't know if you remember, but Sam broke up with me, not the other way around. The time I've had so far isn't enough to have sorted out my feelings about him, much less the more complicated ones about you. So, please, just focus on helping Kurt. If I… if I ever think I can face loving you, I'll come to you."

Puck frowned. "What if you never do?"

"Then I chose to protect myself rather than take the risk."

It wasn't what he wanted to hear from her. He wanted to hear Quinn profess her love for him and say she wanted to spend the rest of their lives together. Instead, she fed him a huge mound of weepy, girlie crap.

Puck hadn't meant to hurt her. He loved her.

He shoved his fists into the pockets of his hoodie and went to see what sort of depressing shit Kurt was doing in the basement. The sound of Quinn's light sobs and the knife rhythmically hitting the cutting board followed him.


	33. Alex: Why You Told Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We have a song! It's "Haven't We Been Here Before" by Styx. I heart Styx. :D

Puck spent too much time in Alex's room. Since he was always there, the others started to think they could come down too. Sometimes he could ignore them, but other times the countertenor drove them out. Screaming was usually enough to do it. He was pretty sure the others actually lectured Puck sometimes for not giving Alex his space when he flew off the handle. Puck didn't much seem to care though.

"Dude, you're hella boring. Can we at least watch TV?" Puck groaned form where he lay on the bed.

Alex lay down beside him before answering, "No. You could go home and do whatever you want there."

Puck frowned and turned toward the countertenor. "My mom is kinda scary, dude. It's like she thinks I'm gonna run off again." He shook his head. "At least your family thinks I'm all kinds of awesome. And they give me free food. I don't think it's kosher, but it's still damn good."

The countertenor rolled his eyes. Of course Puck would be thinking about food. All the guy did was bother Alex and eat. "Someday, they're going to sneak you some pork. Just wait for it." He inched closer to the other boy.

When the jock jerked back, it could have been either the thought of eating pork or the way Alex's leg slid between his own. The countertenor suspected the latter.

"Kurt, I thought we were past this." Puck scowled, and Alex moved in to bite lightly at his neck. The jock flipped his friend over and pinned him easily. "You are such a dipshit. Just drop it, okay."

Alex sneered into his pillow. "You know I couldn't come on to you if I were in New York."

"Sure you could. 'Cause I'd be there too, to bring you the hell back home again." He kept his weight on Alex a moment longer before pulling back.

"Someday, Puckerman, I will make you cry for your mommy. Then you'll let me go."

"Dude, not likely." He grinned. _Grinned!_ "I know what you're doing, which kind of ruins the chances of it working on me."

"I hate you right now. Go away."

"So you can mope about your room like a sad little emo kid? Not likely. At least when we argue, you're doing something exciting."

Alex rolled his eyes. "Arguing with you isn't exciting. It's boorish and bothersome."

"Which explains why it gets you so hot you can't keep your girlie little hands off me." The jerk smiled in a way Alex could only describe as 'cocky.' The countertenor was going to have to think of another way to convince Puck of his fucked-upedness.

A knock came at the door, so Alex shouted "Go away!" He didn't want to deal with anyone else. Puck was bad enough.

The door opened anyway. "Kurt, you have a visitor. She, uh, her name is Annette." Burt's voice preceded him down the stairs. Behind him walked Annette Sherwood.

The scar had healed well, but it was too large to hide. She wore her hair down, and Alex suspected she let it fall forward over her face a lot. He rubbed at the arm warmers covering his wrists. He understood.

"Hey, Kurt. Can I call you Kurt again?" She smiled in a way that was too peaceful. She should have been more upset. More like Alex.

"No," he answered.

"But do so anyway," Puck added as he stood from the bed.

"Oh, are you his boyfriend?"

Puck frowned. "Why does everyone think that? I'm straight. I'll let you two talk, or whatever it is people do when they're near each other." The way he stormed from the room almost made Alex laugh. Except that he'd been trying since New Year's to make Puck upset like that and couldn't. Burt followed Puck out, leaving Alex alone with Annette.

"You made it home," she said.

"Clearly."

"But you aren't happy?"

He shook his head. "I don't want to be here. It's… suffocating."

"Like seriously or are you just being moody? I have major mood swings sometimes. Last week I broke all the china in my house. Now we don't have any because it's too expensive to replace."

"I really don't get why you told me that." He turned to glare at the wall.

"I'm pregnant."

"Or that." He wanted to know if it was Rob's child, but he didn't want to ask. Fuck, he was as bad as the morons upstairs. Fine then. "Is Robbie the father?"

"Yes."

"Are you keeping it?" He wouldn't. He'd get rid of the thing. Alex felt suddenly lucky not to be a girl.

"Yes. I'm not going to let a dead man ruin my relationship with my child."

"And if he were alive?"

"Then I wouldn't let a live man ruin it. She—I don't actually know it's a girl, I just hope so—won't know about Robin. She doesn't have to."

Alex crossed his arms and stared down his nose at her. She was either optimistic or naïve; he suspected they were the same thing. "And when she finds out anyway?"

"Then I'll tell her that it doesn't matter."

"And if you get married and have other children whose father hadn't raped you? Will she feel you love her as much?"

Annette held up her hand to show off her wedding band. "Been married almost two years now, and my husband can't have children. Even if he could, I would still love this child as much as any other."

"How can you be sure?" Eventually, he'd find the question that stumped her, just like eventually he'd find the barb that stung Puck.

"You." She paused, probably to admire the stunned look on Alex's face. He hadn't even spoken to her until today; how could he have made her sure of anything? "You saved me, Kurt. You made me believe that people can be good even when surrounded only by pain and cruelty. I didn't know how long he had kept you, or how long he would after I got away. I just knew you never let him stop you from being a genuinely good person. And I know he has even less power to take the goodness out of my child than he did to take it from you."

So that was it. Well, he had the counter argument, and its name was Jack. He had raped and killed Jack. Alex wondered suddenly if Annette knew what he had done to Robbie just before killing the rapist freak. When he realized he had been biting his lip, Alex stopped; he wasn't a fucking twelve-year-old.

"You sang for me, Kurt. Even when you couldn't do anything at all, couldn't even stand up, you reached out with your song and tried to help me. I don't have as nice a voice as yours, but I don't think that's the point." She took a deep breath.

_Haven't we been here before  
Footsteps lead down to the note on the door  
That says I can't stay here anymore_

_And haven't we felt this same way  
Sure in our hearts, but afraid just the same  
To say I can't stay one minute more  
_

She was right. Her voice wasn't as good as his. It didn't seem to matter. Alex avoided looking her in the eyes, focusing instead on the walls, floor, ceiling, chair, bed, anything. But he could feel her gaze, soft as a baby's blanket and penetrating as any knife.

_You might think that it's hopeless  
Beyond our control  
But that's not necessarily so  
Can't you see there's a chance  
For the daring young soul  
Who's finally learned to say no_

_No, I won't be misused  
Ignored or refused  
And I won't just give up and let go  
_

Alex sat on the edge of the bed and pulled his knees to his chest as he wrapped his arms around his legs. He didn't want Annette to sing to him. He wanted her to go away. But this… understanding flowed out of her and rammed itself against him in waves. She wanted him to feel better, and all he felt was accused. She didn't know. She couldn't know. No one knew. They had killed Jack to make sure no one ever would.

_So tonight hold me close to you  
And don't give up what's important to you  
And as time rolls on  
Nothing can stand in our way  
_

The once-lovely woman stepped forward and placed her hands on Alex's shoulders. One of them moved to his chin where it turned his face to hers. She looked into his eyes. He saw the tears but ignored them. He couldn't share this with her. Maybe he had once, but he wasn't that boy anymore.

_And I believe if we learn from the past  
We'd say haven't we been here before  
And I believe if we open our hearts  
We'd find keys to unlock every door  
Hearts could change overnight  
We'd be strong_

_We'd be right  
So stay with me now  
The future is ours  
And we'll be the ones who go on_

Alex pushed her away. He had lasted through to the end of her little song, and it was enough. Annette should have understood; she should have known better. Even Puck knew better, compared to the rest of those who called him by the old name. Alex didn't want to feel at peace. He wanted to hurt something, had already hurt something and felt it wasn't enough. It was too much; he shouldn't have done it. He should have put a bullet in Robin's brain and left, not cut him up like some circus side show.

He should have saved Jack.

He should have let Robin kill him rather than letting the man force him into raping and killing an innocent man.

"Go away," he said.

She forced a hug on him but left afterward. Unfortunately, Puck came back down as soon as Annette was gone. He sat beside Alex and put an arm across the other boy's shoulders. For once, he had the sense to stay quiet. The countertenor knew he was crying because Puck's fingers brushed the tears from his cheeks. He let the taller teen hug him even though it was stupid and he didn't deserve it. Then he let Puck press him to lie back on the bed and rest. The jock's presence should have bothered him, but he was too tired and strung out to deny right then that having Puck nearby was comforting, even if he never said it aloud.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I dunno if any of you care, but Annette will have a girl and name her Alison.


	34. Finn: Try to Help

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song: Evanescence's "My Immortal."

While he sat next to Kurt on the couch, Finn let himself smile. It felt kind of crooked on his face. Rachel had the cheap little microphone because she had taken it on herself to lead everyone in karaoke. When Finn glanced at his not-quite-brother, Kurt just looked tired and maybe a little grumpy. Everything was supposed to be happy now. All the bad things were supposed to have been left behind in a crappy motel room with Robin Banks where he lay on what in Finn's mind always looked like dirty, bloodstained sheets.

Finn shook his head to knock the dark thoughts out of the way and stretched his arm across Kurt's shoulders. The smaller boy gave him a look exactly like a haughtily displeased cat. Finn smiled at him widely, but Kurt just turned away to stare again at a spot of nothing to the left of the TV screen. Finn coughed but left his arm around his brother.

When the doorbell rang, Rachel let off a smile that Finn was pretty sure literally lit up the room. She was awesome like that. Rachel handed the mic to Artie and dashed off to the door. She had invited Mr. Schuester to come over today because he hadn't seen Kurt at all yet. Somehow, Rachel thought it was a secret, but everyone except Kurt knew Schuester would be there.

The Spanish teacher shuffled in behind Rachel, who skipped in beaming with a self-satisfied sort of light. He looked nervous, and his eyes kept darting around until they landed on Kurt.

"Oh, Kurt, I'm so glad you're okay." He stepped forward quickly then and knelt on the floor in front of the countertenor, who only raised an eyebrow. "I should have noticed something was wrong. I should have stopped him from taking you. I am so, so sorry, Kurt."

It had been a while since Finn thought much about how Mr. Schue saw Banks and Kurt leaving McKinley. It made sense to him then why the teacher had been so worried about seeing Kurt again.

"I don't care. Go away." Kurt rolled his eyes and looked away from the man kneeling in front of him.

Schuester looked crushed, so Finn said, "Don't worry. He says that to everyone." He tried to smile again, but it felt wrong.

"I know it's my fault, Kurt. I just want you to know that if I could—"

"I just said I don't care," Kurt snarled. It felt wrong for such a mean, angry sound to come from him. "You couldn't have done anything, Mr. Schuester. He had a fucking gun in his pocket pointed at me the whole time. If you had tried anything, all you'd have managed was to get us both shot." He scowled. "So stop simpering on my carpet before the pity drips off of you and stains something."

"He says stuff like that to everyone too," Finn offered when Schuester looked too shell-shocked to move. "I don't think he means the mean parts." The smile fit better this time because he thought that was true. A lot of the time, it felt like Kurt was just trying to push everyone away instead of like he really believed the things he said.

Mr. Schue looked like he didn't know what to do, so Finn helped him up and led the man to a chair. Then the quarterback went back to sit by his brother.

When Rachel tried to get the mic from Artie, Brittany held up a hand to stop her. "I think Kurt should sing too." She smiled, and it was sweet; but everyone knew Kurt didn't want to sing. Or everyone but Brittany did anyway.

No one said anything for a moment.

"No, Brit, it's cool. Just let Rachel sing every song until Kurt decides he's ready," Puck said from where he had leaned against the wall with his hands in his pockets. Finn had forgotten the other jock was there.

Rachel seemed pretty happy with this suggestion, but Finn noticed that Kurt's eye kind of twitched. The Jewish diva made it through three and a half songs before the gay diva snatched the microphone from her with a glare way meaner than the one he'd given Mr. Schue. It was the only time Finn could remember that his girlfriend hadn't freaked out over losing a chance to sing. Now she actually smiled and sat down by the quarterback while Kurt chose a song.

_I'm so tired of being here  
Suppressed by all my childish fears  
And if you have to leave  
I wish that you would just leave  
'Cause your presence still lingers here  
And it won't leave me alone  
_

His voice was as great as ever. For a while, Finn had wondered if Banks had hurt Kurt's throat and messed up the boy's voice. It would have explained why the gleek didn't want to sing anymore. It was definitely something else though because Kurt sounded amazing.

_You used to captivate me  
By your resonating light  
Now I'm bound by the life you left behind  
Your face it haunts  
My once pleasant dreams  
Your voice it chased away  
All the sanity in me  
_

Rachel was crying. When Finn looked around, the others seemed upset. None of the tears were happy ones at hearing Kurt sing again. When Finn thought about what Kurt was singing, thought about who he could be singing to, the quarterback felt like a fucking moron. Of course Rachel was crying. Kurt was singing "My Immortal" to the man who had kidnapped and raped him until the boy finally found a chance to kill the bastard. Finn felt like he had deserved every time someone called him stupid and all the times they hadn't gotten around to it yet too.

_These wounds won't seem to heal  
This pain is just too real  
There's just too much that time cannot erase  
_

Until this moment, Finn hadn't really realized that Kurt wasn't going to just get better. Kurt could spend the rest of his life halfway to broken, and Finn had never even bothered to think it. He felt like the world's worst brother. He _was_ the world's worst brother.

_When you cried I'd wipe away all of your tears  
When you'd scream I'd fight away all of your fears  
I held your hand through all of these years  
But you still have  
All of me  
_

Kurt threw the mic down into Rachel's lap and stormed to the basement. Finn followed him because maybe if he was there for Kurt, he could make up for being such a stupid, worthless almost-brother.

"Leave me alone, Finn. I'm not in the mood to deal with you right now." Kurt collapsed face-down onto his bed.

"You, um, you sang good." Finn realized a little late he didn't know what to say.

"'Well,' Finn, I sang _well_."

"Yeah, that too." He pulled the computer chair over next to the bed and sat down. "You know I'm not always great at knowing what to say, but I just want to tell you I'll be here for you. In a brotherly way, not a weird way."

Kurt actually bothered to lift his head, probably so Finn could see him stare at the taller boy like he was an idiot. "You can skip it. I already got almost exactly the same speech from my dad."

"Yeah, but I bet his was in a fatherly way." He laughed a little at the way Kurt stared at him. "Just… whatever happened to you, whatever you did," flashes of words carved into a man's chest darted through Finn's mind before he could push them away, "I still love you because we're brothers, even if our parents aren't really married. We're family."

"No, you just _want_ to be family. We aren't though. We weren't before, and you know what, Finn? We never will be." He sneered around the words, but Finn tried not to feel hurt.

"We can be friends too if you don't like brothers."

"We aren't friends either. We aren't anything. I don't want to be."

It didn't feel like Finn kept the hurt from showing, but he tried to press on anyway. Kurt didn't mean it. Kurt couldn't mean it. Finn took a long, slow breath. "Doesn't matter. I still love you."

The countertenor let his face fall back to the pillow and didn't say anything more. Finn sat with him without speaking, trying to send happy, loving thoughts at Kurt even though he felt a little silly doing it. Maybe this boy would never be the old Kurt again, but it wouldn't be because Finn had been too scared to try to help him or too stupid to know he needed it.


	35. Alex: Too Much Like Truth

So, Puck had been pissed when Annette mistook him for Alex's boyfriend. He'd seemed annoyed when Meg did the same thing. But if the countertenor tried to flirt with him, Puck ignored or deflected it. He didn't mind being treated like Alex's boyfriend, just being accused of it. Alex didn't see the difference, but he knew it was there. It had to be.

The first time, Meg hadn't used the word 'boyfriend.' She had asked if the jock was Robbie. Was that it? Could it be that simple? If Puck didn't want to be compared to Robin, then he must have done so himself. He must have found something, a similarity that he tried to hide.

Alex tapped his foot and brushed his bangs back. He would figure this out. And he would freak Puck the hell out. Then he would go back to New York. He wouldn't be able to live with Meg any longer because Puck could find her, but Alex was confident that he could locate another place to stay until he had enough money to afford his own apartment.

When a knock came at his door, the teen ignored it. He had managed to pull his smaller chest of drawers up the stairs, and now it blocked the door.

Puck was kind of tall, but not so much as Rob. They were both in pretty good shape and had dark hair but otherwise looked very little alike. It probably wasn't physical anyway; it would take something more profound to get to Puck as it clearly had.

The chest of drawers crashed down the stairs followed by the sound of Puck and Finn swearing loudly. It had taken him _much_ longer to get the thing up there than it did for them to shove it back down. The boys rushed down the stairs and looked relieved to find Alex sitting at his desk with his browser open and a forgotten search on designer sunglasses still pulled up.

"Jesus, Kurt, what the hell was that for?" Finn panted a little, probably from the excitement of worrying about a guy he still thought might be sort of like a brother to him.

Alex shrugged. "It couldn't possibly be that I'm sick of having to put up with all of you fucking morons any time _you_ damn well please, now could it?"

Finn looked hurt, but then he always looked hurt. The puppy eyes thing probably wasn't even an act. "Sorry, man, we just worry about you."

"And yet it would solve so many of our problems if you just wouldn't." He clicked on a couple links to make him look busy. "You can go now," he added with a dismissive wave of his hand. "Your presence makes my brain tired."

Finn made a sound like he wanted to say something but turned and left instead. Puck, unfortunately but predictably, stayed.

"You too, stupid. That last part was actually for you."

"I'm a bit thicker skinned than Finn. He's like a tiny, six-foot-something, helpless animal. The kind that follows you home and looks pathetic enough that your parents actually let you keep him. Don't tell him I said any of that or he'd punch me though."

"Hasn't he already punched you?"

"Lots of times." Puck grinned but then dropped it in favor of a frown. "You don't keep up with the news, do you?"

The countertenor sighed and shook his head, wondering what that had to do with anything.

"Someone found a body. They think it's another of Banks' victims based on the wounds and the way the body was left. If so, he had the guy while you were with him too."

Oh, fuck, it was Jack. It had to be Jack. Alex managed not to flinch, but his fingers tapped nervously on the desk. "What was his name?"

"They aren't releasing it. To protect his family or whatever."

If Puck didn't even know Jack's name, then maybe he knew little enough not to connect the other dots. Alex turned back to the computer and hoped (stupidly) that Puck would go away.

"I remember you told me…" He paused and licked his lips. "Banks had forced you before to have sex with another captive." Fuck, he remembered. Of course he remembered; it had obviously freaked him the hell out. "You weren't able to save that one, were you?"

Worse than that, Alex had killed him. "Get the fuck out of my room, Puckerman."

Instead of leaving, Puck knelt on the floor beside Alex's chair and placed one hand on the boy's leg, just above his knee. "I realize you're kind of an idiot, so I probably have to spell this out for you, but you know it wasn't your fault, right?"

"You don't even know what you're talking about." He turned his chair and kicked Puck firmly in the chest. The jock fell back.

"He's the one, right?" He rubbed at his chest and coughed, keeping his eyes on Alex as he pulled himself back up. Alex declined to answer. "I'm taking the bitchy silence as assent. So you didn't want to do it. Banks forced you, which makes it really not your fault."

"This is sweet and all, Puck, but you can shut up now. I don't need you misinterpreting events you don't actually know anything about." The jock had too little information. He didn't know what had happened. He couldn't know.

"Fine then, I'll talk about what I do know. I know you didn't want to do anything to _me_. I was fucking there for that part." The jock's brow furrowed, and his hands clenched into fists.

Alex rolled his eyes. "Oh, yes, and it took so very much convincing to change my mind."

"Hell, dude, I'd say a gun is about as convincing as it gets."

"Get out." Alex lacked the patience for this. He wasn't going to talk it out with Noah fucking Puckerman. That wasn't how it worked. Puck ran away from his problems and used bullying and petty crime as roadblocks so he could stay ahead of them. He didn't pull people into sharing sessions.

"No. I know you're messed up, but that doesn't mean you're as bad as he is."

"I said get out!" He screamed the words and flung his hands to his head. This was stupid and fucked up. He needed Puck to go away.

"You know throwing a fit doesn't work on me." Puck reached one hand between Alex's arms and pressed a finger to the bottom of the countertenor's chin. "Are you upset because you think I'm lying or because you believe you don't deserve to be accepted and forgiven anymore?" He raised the countertenor's eyes to meet his as he spoke.

It sounded too much like truth. Alex shoved a hand into his pocket and pulled out the knife Puck had returned to him. The knife he had killed Robbie with. He used his thumb to push out the blade and slashed at Puck's forearm. It worked. Puck pulled back.

"Holy fuck," he shouted, pressing his free hand to the slice running up his arm. Blood seeped past his fingers and fell to the carpet. It would stain. Alex didn't care. Puck stumbled back. "Dude, what the hell is wrong with you? No, I know what's wrong, but how did _that_ seem like the thing to do about it?"

Alex held the knife in front of him. It took all the control he had to turn his scowl into something like a smirk. "Get the fuck away from me before I do it again, Puckerman. I think I'll try it on your face next." The countertenor even managed not to flinch saying it. Robbie would be proud.

"Goddamnit, Kurt." He held the arm high, probably to try and lessen the blood flow. "I just want your little bitch ass to know I'm coming back later when I've stopped bleeding all over your shit. And then I'll say something sappy just to spite you. Because I'm just _that_ fucking pissed." When Puck walked out, his face held none of the fear Alex remembered from the motel room. Alex thought it should have.

He cleaned the knife and hid it. This one was important. He had others and put one in his pocket and another in his desk drawer for whoever came down next to find what he had attacked Puck with. They would definitely try to disarm him after that. Maybe Puck would have tried to hide a smaller cut, but Alex hadn't exactly been planning ahead when he lashed out.

Then it hit him that he had just hurt someone. Not like Rob or Kitty—they had deserved it. Puck may have been an asshole, but he wasn't a criminal, and he had never really hurt Alex. Fuck, he should have left the room like Alex told him to. Maybe now he'd let the countertenor leave. Maybe now he'd see that they couldn't be friends anymore.

It was Burt who came down to take the knife. His eyes were strained. Alex handed over the one he had placed in his pocket while Carol went through his things and found the weapon he'd planted in the desk. She didn't find the others.

"Son, why did you do it?"

"He wouldn't leave me alone. He kept talking about when I was with Robbie." Maybe he should have tried to sound pathetic, but Alex spat the words out with enough acid to corrode any chance of Burt taking sympathy with him. Whatever.

"You can't just hurt people when they upset you. That isn't how the world works." He frowned. "You're lucky it was Puck; he'll be angry but not too afraid to come back."

"Then maybe I should have waited for someone else to come down."

Burt clenched his jaw, and Alex couldn't tell if it was to keep himself from shouting or sobbing. "Kurt," he bit off the word like an old, tough piece of jerky. "We're putting you on the meds Janice prescribed, and I'm giving her a call tonight. I wanted to give you some space, but clearly I was wrong to. I won't let you hurt anyone else, especially not yourself." The man's voice was hard the way the trunk of a massive old tree was hard. Alex doubted he could cut through it alone.

"I won't take those fucking pills, and I won't talk to Janice." Alex's secrets were his own. They wouldn't have a chance to ruin anyone else.

"Son, we only want to help you. I will always be here for you, and I will always try to do what's best for you, whatever else happens. And right now, the only way I can do that is to keep you from driving off your friends."

"That's cute, father, but I am remarkably disinterested in your being _here for me_." He pulled away and wrapped his arms around himself. It only made listening to Burt's drabble worse knowing he wouldn't stand by it if he knew what Alex had done and what he had let Robin make him into.

"I'm also putting a lock on your door. Puck tried to tell me you want to leave but won't run away, but he also thought you wouldn't hurt him."

"So you're locking me in? Like a fucking prisoner?"

"Like someone who I'm truly worried is going to do something stupid and hurt himself. Once you're feeling better, we can flip the lock. Then you'll finally be able to lock your door after, what, six years of bugging me about it?"

"Hey, prince of the assholes," Puck shouted, hurrying down the stairs ahead of Mercedes and Finn. The two looked like they wanted to drag him out of the basement but were afraid to touch the already injured teen.

Alex arched an eyebrow and tried to look superior and impatient. It felt weird to be called a prince instead of a princess.

"No matter what you do, I will never in all of time stop being your friend because I believe you are a good person in your heart or wherever the hell puppies and rainbows would fit inside someone's body." He paused as if waiting for a reply. "Come on, dude! I got most of that from Schuester, and he's the sappiest bastard I know. I told you I'd do it." He pointed accusingly at Alex with his uninjured armed.

"Puck, did you keep your mind in your right forearm where it could bleed out after I cut you? Because I honestly suspect you've lost it." Alex crossed his arms.

"Everyone keeps saying that." He looked confused, like it had never occurred to Puck that chasing after a man as terrifying as Robbie, especially with no real chance of doing any good, was crazy. That he (mostly) succeeded only made it more insane.

"Come on, Puck. You should head back upstairs," Burt said, placing a hand on the jock's shoulder.

"Why?"

The look on Burt's face at the question might have been funny if Alex weren't so determined to be pissed off. "Because you're hurt."

"This?" He held up his injured arm. "It's all antibacterialized and bandaged. I had way worse when those jackasses ripped out my nipple ring. I'm fine."

This time, Alex did laugh at the look on Burt's face. It felt all wrong since he'd spent so long convincing these people he'd lost any sense of humor not directly linked to insulting them, but… Burt looked like he'd just realized the adorable little kitten he found on the street could talk, but all it would say was 'motherfucker'.

Everyone looked at Alex, but their faces couldn't seem to decide on disbelief, worry, or relief. Except Puck who grinned and used his cell phone one-handed to take a picture of Burt before the man had a chance to correct his expression.

"Now, if you would all fuck off…" Alex said, but he let a smirk stay on his face. Let them think what they would, he had just found a completely arbitrary and useless link between Puck and Rob that would no doubt annoy the jock. Alex he slashed them both on the right forearm to keep them from touching him. Now he just had to figure out the rest. When he did, Burt's lock wouldn't matter. Puck would want him gone so badly he would probably help.


	36. Quinn: Kept the Smile

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song: Billy Joel's "You May Be Right." Yes, I already used a Billy Joel song. Yes, I can do so again. I debated on it a long time since I've only used other artists once each, but Glee canon reuses artists regularly, so why can't I?

When Puck confronted her, Quinn freely admitted she had been avoiding him, or avoiding being alone with him at least. She had already talked to Sam, apologized to him and listened to him apologize to her. They weren't going to date again, but she thought maybe they could be friends now. Puck was another matter.

He stood in front of the whole glee club—minus Kurt who had declined to come—with Artie beside him. Quinn silently thanked Artie for offering to play guitar during Puck's attempt to serenade the cheerio. If he had to make a fool of himself, at least he wouldn't risk tearing open the slash Kurt had left in his forearm while he did so.

"I know you said you wanted space," he said to Quinn with too wide a grin on his face, "but it's just a song." Even though it was dumb and untrue, Quinn was glad he said it if only because he took her mind off of Kurt attacking people with knives.

_Friday night I crashed your party  
Saturday I said I'm sorry  
Sunday came and trashed me out again  
I was only having fun  
Wasn't hurting anyone  
And we all enjoyed the weekend for a change  
_

Just a song. Just a song trying to convince her to date him. Quinn sighed and rested her chin lightly on the palm of her hand, but she kept her eyes on Puck as he sang to her. She owed him very little, but this much she probably did.

_I was stranded in the combat zone  
I walked through Bedford Stuy alone  
Even rode my motorcycle in the rain  
And you told me not to drive  
But I made it home alive  
So you said that only proves that I'm insane  
_

It was the second time Puck had sung Billy Joel to her. The first time, he had been drunk, and it had been for the group as a whole too. He had wanted them to accept that he didn't have to be what they thought he should, and that it was okay to be something that maybe most people believed was wrong or at least strange.

_You may be right  
I may be crazy  
But it just may be a lunatic you're looking for  
Turn out the light  
Don't try to save me  
You may be wrong for all I know  
But you may be right  
_

This time was different. Somehow bringing Kurt home had helped Puck accept himself in a way singing never had. The boy had been away for two weeks, and Quinn wondered seriously for the first time what had happened to change him so much. Sometimes he still behaved like a child, but even then he lacked the volatility she remembered.

_Now think of all the years you tried to  
Find someone to satisfy you  
I might be as crazy as you say  
If I'm crazy then it's true  
That it's all because of you  
And you wouldn't want me any other way_

At least the jock had the sense not to look hopeful. Quinn wasn't ready to leap into his arms and kiss him, even though she knew Puck wanted her to. The others applauded and filed out, leaving Quinn and Puck painfully alone. Or most of them did, Finn actually carried Santana out, and Mercedes had to encourage Sam to move.

"Puck," Quinn said softly when she realized she would only get away after speaking to him. "Life isn't as easy as singing a song."

"I know." His lips formed a small smile without a hint of smugness. "But it'd be awesome if it were."

"Did you think this would get you something?"

"Not right now." He shrugged. "Maybe eventually, after you've had time for your thinking and stuff."

Quinn carefully kept her distance. Falling into Puck's arms now would accomplish nothing. "So why not wait to sing it later?"

"Babe, I don't know. It just felt right. I know everyone set us up in here or whatever, but I'm even cool if you don't want to talk about it right now. Unless you do want to, and that's awesome too." The uncertain expression on Puck's face reminded Quinn of the way he had looked when their daughter was born.

"What do you think Beth is doing right now?" Sometimes she thought of the child by name, and others just as her daughter. Puck had been the one to name her.

"Well, it's right after lunch, so probably napping with a full belly. Do you feed babies at lunch time?"

"I don't know, Puck, probably. I was just curious." Really, Quinn should have asked how he thought Beth was doing. It was the question she wanted answered, but also the one she feared. Quinn had given her child up with no way to know if the little girl would have a good home. A better home than a couple of teenagers could give her. "You know, you _are_ kind of crazy sometimes." Talking about the song just seemed easier.

"And I was serious when I said you wouldn't want me any other way." He smirked this time, but it turned into a genuine grin when then cheerio answered with a smile of her own.

"I still haven't decided if I want you at all." She tried to keep the words soft. It was something he needed to know, but not something she wanted to hurt him with.

"I know, but when you do, it'll be because I'm not like all those other guys."

She let herself laugh just a little. "You're quite the confident one now."

Puck caught her eyes with his and grinned widely. Then he turned and left the room to join the others. It had been a long time since being around the jock left Quinn feeling anything but depressed. She kept the smile on her face as she moved into the other room.


	37. Alex: The Knife

The only time Alex wanted Puck to come down to the basement, he had to wait for the bastard to get out of school first. And he'd probably have homework or a sport to play or something after that. The countertenor groaned and tapped his knuckles against the wall above his headboard while he waited. Then he rolled over to lie on his side but kept his arms over his head. When he realized that, he pulled them down to his chest and tried to curl himself around them.

Someone came down the stairs, but it was just Burt. "You know, son, you should be at school with them."

"Fuck school." He turned his back to his father. They had already talked about this. Everyone wanted Alex to go to school as Kurt Hummel. He kept threatening and scaring them to make sure no one would trust him near other students. Burt seemed to have realized it was an act. Alex felt like shit when he thought that he could have really hurt Puck. Somehow, it hadn't bothered him until after. Maybe they were right to keep him away from others. Maybe the only person right for him anymore was the man he had already murdered.

"It'll be okay, Kurt." Burt rubbed Alex's shoulder. "Janice said that when you first start taking antidepressants, they might make you more depressed at first, so this is normal."

"And fuck that bitch and her pills too."

Alex wasn't depressed. He was angry, out of place, and screwed up beyond belief. Those weren't the same thing at all. He tried to shrug off his father's hand, but the man was persistent.

"Have you noticed any of those side effects she mentioned? Like nausea or dry mouth or—"

"No. I'm fine. So leave me alone."

"Janice says you still aren't talking to her." He sounded exactly like a concerned parent should, and it made Alex twitch.

"She claimed she wouldn't tell you what I say."

"And she didn't, especially since you haven't said anything. Or if you have, it wasn't anything helpful. Kurt," he paused and took a deep breath. "We all know you're hurting, but you can't work through it if you won't accept our help. Please, just talk to someone. I don't even care who, okay."

Alex ignored Burt until the man walked slowly upstairs. Then he ignored whatever else happened until Puck came down the stairs. He sat up and turned toward the jock.

"Terrify any nerds today, Puck?"

"Dude, I scare them just by walking by. But I did get to throw Jacob in the dumpster—for purely noble reasons. He called you a basket case." He sat down at the foot of Alex's bed.

"You know, I just thought of something interesting. Maybe it's why I put up with you so well."

"Is it because I'm hot? 'Cause, dude, check out my arms." He flexed to show off his biceps, then laughed and let his arms fall.

"No, moron. You have a way of intimidating people, like a dangerous aura. People know to stay out of your way." Alex leaned back against the headboard and hoped this didn't backfire.

"Hey, I've gotten a lot nicer since joining glee club! To you anyway. And I don't get the rest, mostly the part you didn't say."

Alex forced himself to raise the corner of his lip. It came out as a smirk; much better than a grimace. "I think it reminds me of Robbie."

Puck blanched. "That's fucked up, Kurt."

"You mean that I'd say it, or that I'd like it?"

"You are such a bitch." The jock took a slow, deep breath. "And I know you don't like me anyway." But, Alex noted, Puck didn't try to deny that the countertenor liked Robin.

Alex shrugged. "Not much, but enough. You do know that's why they think it, right? That you're the guy I'd want as my boyfriend after being with Robbie long enough to kind of want something like him." His voice quavered, but Alex reigned it in. "They can tell you aren't like other people, and in just the right ways too."

Something there made Puck flinch. Alex still needed to determine in which ways Puck hated being similar to Rob. He hoped the jock would give himself away.

"Dude, I don't even know what you're talking about anymore."

"Which explains why you look ready to strangle something. It's okay if you want to try; I'm actually somewhat used to it."

The jock stood a little too quickly and spun toward Alex. He grabbed the countertenor by the shoulders and stared him in the eye. "Why the fuck would I want to do that, Kurt?" It sounded honest.

"I know you lash out sometimes. I understand. I do it now too." Alex let his eyes dart to the bandages on Puck's arm.

For a long time, Puck stayed silent. Alex waited. "I'll make you a deal," the jock said finally. "When that girl Annette came to see you, she left something for you. She gave it to me because she didn't think you were ready to have, uh, weapons. But I kind of know you already do." He rubbed self-consciously at the back of his neck. "I'll trade you the knife you used to help Annette escape for the one you used to kill Banks."

"What makes you think I still have—"

"You asked if I wanted to see it."

"I don't remember that."

"It happened. And I bet it was the same one you used on me too, but that part's just a guess."

Alex studied Puck's expression for a moment but found nothing. "It is," he said. "It's the one you brought back to me."

The jock nodded. "I recognized it, which is how I know your parents didn't take it from you."

"Why do you want it anyway? Do you miss it? Want a souvenir of Robbie's death? A souvenir of that slashed on your arm?"

"I want you to have something you used to help someone instead of something you used to hurt someone."

"Did you borrow that from Schuester too?" Alex's voice turned bitter. This wasn't the way he meant the conversation to go.

"No, Kurt, if anyone else knew about the knives, you wouldn't have them anymore." He sighed and crossed his arms.

"And why don't you tell them? I thought I was a danger to myself and others." He scowled and picked at a speck on his pants.

"I don't think you'll hurt anyone else. You obviously feel like shit over it." And how the hell did he figure that? He was right, but Alex didn't see how Puck could know that. "Don't look so surprised, Kurt. You've been even more emo than before. Everyone else thinks it's the meds." He cocked his head. "Are you actually taking them?"

"Burt makes me."

"Dude, he's your dad. Don't call him by name. It's creepy."

"It's because you like having power over me." Alex narrowed his eyes. It didn't matter if it was true or not, so long as he acted like it was.

"Huh?"

"Not telling about the knives. It gives you a hold over me. I can tell because everything Robbie did was meant to increase the power he had over me. It just took a little while to recognize because I didn't actually expect it from you."

"You know that's bullshit." But he did look nervous. "I just want to trade, okay. Say you'll trade."

Alex didn't want to. "This one is important to me," he said. "You left it for me, and it saved my life. It makes me feel safe."

"Fuck, if any weapon saved your life, it was the goddamn gun. But I think you saved your own life. Knives and guns are just tools."

The countertenor curled in on himself, hugging his knees to his chest. "I need it Puck."

"You saved Annette with this." The taller teen placed a hand on Alex's shoulder and pulled the other pocketknife from his jeans pocket. "She wants to save you too."

"And what about you?" Alex spat the question.

"You didn't use a weapon to save me. You didn't need one."Puck set the knife Annette had brought on the nightstand. He moved his hand to Alex's hip, then slid a finger lower to touch the bulge in the countertenor's pocket. "I know this is it," he said, and he was right. "I can take it. Please don't make me."

"Robbie wouldn't have asked. I guess you're a watered down version."

The finger curled into a fist but didn't move otherwise. "I'm also much better looking than he is. That scar doesn't do anything for him."

"It makes him distinctive, like your mohawk."

"Kurt. The knife." He frowned darkly.

"No."

The jock easily flipped Alex onto his stomach and pinned him. He slid a hand into the countertenor's pocket. It felt less like he was taking the knife and more like he was reaching to grope the other boy's cock. Alex trembled, caught between screaming and moaning. He almost cursed himself, but turned the sound into Robbie's name instead. Puck jerked back like he'd been bitten. Too late, he already had the pocketknife.

Alex swung his torso around and reached for the knife, but Puck pulled back.

"Dude, I _am_ sorry, but this thing is like poison. At least that one's a little better." The jock backed away as he spoke and ran upstairs with Alex's pocketknife.

He needed that knife. It protected him, made him feel safe when he started to freak out. He'd even kept it on hand when he fucked that guy at the theater, and it had helped then too. How did Puck expect Alex to survive without his knife?

The countertenor lay on his side with his knees pulled up to his chest and his arms above his head. He cried and stared at the pocketknife Puck had left behind. It was his too, but not in the same way. It was like a ghost built of sharpened metal. Alex remembered pulling it from Robbie's pocket just after taking on his new name.

But that made him think about Robin. And that made him miss the man.

The countertenor jerked his arms down and rolled to face the other way. He wasn't in love with Robin Banks. He hated Robin. He had killed Robin. It didn't matter anyway because he was dead.

But Alex wasn't dead, and he was crying now over a man who had never deserved anyone's tears. He fervently wanted Puck to return, to distract him. Why had he left that fucking knife? If he wanted to disarm Alex, then why not just leave the boy with nothing? He should have. He hadn't.

Before he could change his mind, Alex swung around to grab the small weapon and shove it in his pocket. Rob had held this one. Alex couldn't decide if that made it different somehow. As far as he knew, it had never harmed anyone. That, he knew, did make it different. That made it unchristened. He ignored the thought in favor of wondering whatever had happened to the knife that left the trails all over his back. Alex ran a finger over the scar that reached to his jaw and thought about sex with Rob even though he thought maybe he shouldn't.


	38. Puck: Story Told

It was all kinds of uncool how much Puck wanted to run away right now, to drive all the way back to New York and hide away at Meg's like Kurt had. The way everyone kept darting looks at him made the jock fidget in his seat beside Kurt on the couch. Coming together like this had been his idea—well, sort of it had been Meg's and Puck's together, but the theater worker wasn't exactly in Ohio.

She had called him freaked the hell out because she found out who Kurt was. Even worse, she found out who 'Robbie' was. And, of course, the woman wasn't even a little upset at Kurt for lying to her. Instead, she decided to be pissed the hell off at _Puck._ How the hell did that make any sense? He barely knew the lady and had no reason to share all of his and Kurt's secrets with her. Whatever.

"So, Puck, are we gathered for a moment of silence no one told us about?" It could have been a sort of attack, but Quinn kept her voice soft enough that it didn't sting badly.

"No, I uh…" He scratched at his neck, then ran a hand over his mohawk. Fuck. "Kurt doesn't talk to people, you know, and I can't really blame him because it's not like I've talked to anyone. Quinn doesn't count 'cause that was something different," he added, though it didn't seem to make the blonde any happier.

"I think his reasons aren't quite the same as yours." Mercedes added. She didn't sound mean either. That didn't suck.

"No shit, he's been through way worse crap than I ever have. That's not the point. I… okay, I know there's a point and I wrote it down somewhere, but I have no idea what happened to it."

When the countertenor tried to stand and leave, Puck grabbed him by the hand. He didn't pull the other teen down, but he still held him firmly.

"At the theater wasn't the first time I found Kurt."

The thinner boy hissed and swung his eyes to meet Puck's. He clearly didn't want any of their story told. Well, he probably didn't know Puck wasn't going to mention any of Kurt's parts, but yeah. Fuck. Maybe he should have let Kurt know beforehand? No, then he wouldn't have come.

Puck hated feeling jittery. He was supposed to be a badass, or at least the overconfident stud of McKinley High.

While he focused on Kurt and his own nervousness, everyone else had started talking. They wanted answers now that he'd given them questions.

"Relax, Kurt, I'm only telling my parts." He said it softly, but some of the others had to have heard anyway. And now they fucking knew he knew more than they knew.

The countertenor crossed his arms and took his seat a little too close to Puck with his best ice queen expression. At least he wasn't scowling again; it always looked wrong on him.

"I pretty obviously didn't know how to find Banks or Kurt or a decent dinner most nights I was gone," he said without preamble, but it shut the others up well enough. "But I asked some people who weren't very friendly, and Banks found out about it."

"Because you're something of an idiot."

"Yes, Kurt, thank you." He frowned but patted the other boy's knee. "Banks sent someone to bring me to him, and—"

"You know her name is Kitty. Was Kitty." Kurt interrupted. "Actually, it was Katharina Maynard, but I don't know what that means, or who she was before she was Robbie's girlfriend."

"The news said she was just some girl who ran away because her parents didn't want her to be a dancer, but that was years ago" Santana offered sounding more bored than anything else.

"And she's from the same hometown as Banks, which is a little creepy when you think about it," Mercedes added.

"I'm pretty sure she was Catwoman." Brittany looked thoughtful, and for some reason, Kurt laughed at her. "No, Kurt, I'm serious."

"So am I." He had stopped smiling.

"So, dude, you got your ass beat by a lady?" Finn could have been curious or condescending. Puck couldn't tell.

"No, I got my ass threatened with a knife, so I didn't move much except what the person holding it wanted." He crossed his arms in a way he knew would show off his guns. He didn't want anyone to start thinking he was a wuss.

"Not a handgun?" Tina asked.

Puck thought for a moment before answering. "I think she had one, but she didn't pull it out then. Whatever. The point is: she brought me to where Banks and Kurt were."

This, everyone took in silence. It was a thick kind of silence though, and Puck could feel it tightening around him.

"They didn't have a chance to do anything but scare the shit out of me," he said and tried to make it sound honest. It was true, but that didn't mean everyone would believe him. "Banks got a phone call and left in a hurry with Kitty. After we were alone, Kurt managed to get me out of there."

"And you left Kurt." Finn had on the angry look he usually went for before punching Puck.

"I was tied with rope. He was cuffed, and the key was around Banks' neck."

"Why didn't you stay and help him fight off Banks?" The taller jock stood and clenched his fists. Yeah, that was definitely his about-to-punch-Puck face.

"He told me not to. Said something about Banks using him as a hostage against me. Look, dude, chill out. Kurt's here, isn't he? I ran down the street to a payphone and told the cops where to find him. Then I ran away and hid while waiting for Kurt to call me even though he never did."

"You're sure they didn't do anything to you?" Tina was giving him a weird look. It made Puck feel naked.

"They stripped me and tied me up, but left before they got to the nasty part." It felt weird as all shit to say aloud. He was thankful in a whole new way that nothing had actually happened.

"So, wait," Artie sounded about ready to get the hell out of there. "You were naked, but you still say nothing happened?"

"Yes! God, do you people _want_ me to have gotten raped? I already said homeboy psychopath got a phone call and booked it. He seemed kind of freaked out, so I guess it was more important than the sexy piece of ass his girl brought home for him."

"You know the way you talk about yourself like a conceited stud?" Santana asked, and Puck nodded. "It's hella creepy in that context. Don't do it again."

"She's totally right," Brittany added.

"I'm gonna say since you can say the word, it probably didn't happen."

"Thank you, Mercedes!" he actually threw his hands up in relief.

"How does that matter?" Kurt asked with an eyebrow raised and his bitch face on. "I can say rape."

No one seemed ready to answer that.

"I can also say princess, fuck, sex, murder, scar, and Robbie." His voice dropped into a dark and ugly thing when it touched the words though.

"I still say it's fucked up you call him that." Puck frowned.

Kurt just smirked. "You have no idea."

It seemed like the silence would stretch on, but Mike finally cut into it. "Why do you want to be called Alex if it's the name he gave you?"

Kurt looked surprised. "It's not."

Puck turned to look straight at the countertenor. "But that's what he called you."

"Because I fucking told him to, moron. I chose the name myself, and to be honest, I think my Robbie was a bit disappointed I didn't choose something more exciting."

The 'my Robbie' was even more disturbing than the pet name on its own. Puck didn't manage to stop himself from cringing at it.

"'Hood' was his idea though. Pretty damn obviously so, I'd say."

Puck decided not to ask what that meant. Apparently, so did everyone else. Or maybe they just couldn't fit the words past their clenched teeth. The teen with the mohawk leaned back into the couch and just sat. After a moment, Kurt sat back too, though he leaned more against Puck than he did the couch. His friend decided not to say anything.

Suddenly, Kurt turned his head towards Puck's face. "You know it wasn't before _anything_ happened. I remember a little petting." He had a hand on Puck's leg but didn't move it, so he wasn't trying the creepy flirting thing again. Thank God.

"Really? All the things in the world to say, and that's what you want to tell them about?"

"You just left it out because of me, right? Well, you can be as open and sharing as you like, Puck." He should have sounded a little nice saying it, but Kurt's voice was sharp. It stung.

"Fine, bitch. Banks wanted Kurt's hands all over me, and he got a little bit of touching in before the call. Happy?" He smiled as gruesomely as he knew how at Kurt and tried to ignore the others.

"Touching where?" Even though Santana said it, the words came out strangely choked.

"Where do you think?" Puck glared at her, but that meant he saw everyone's shocked and pity-filled faces.

"And you're okay being… that close to him?" Rachel asked, but she sent Kurt an apologetic look.

"Why wouldn't I be?"

"Puck, he… touched you. I know Kurt didn't want to, but feelings rarely care about making sense of a situation." It seemed now that Rachel had finally spoken, she wasn't ready to stop again. "I know I often have trouble differentiating—"

"He did it at gunpoint. And, to be honest, I was more worried about the gun than Kurt. He's my friend. The guy with his finger on the trigger really wasn't." Puck mostly managed to scoff. He wanted to avoid telling them Kurt said he would have gone all the way with whatever Banks wanted. That wasn't Puck's fucked up secret to tell.

"Wait, I just thought of something," Brittany said, holding up a hand. "Was Kurt naked too?"

Puck glanced at Kurt before answering, but the shorter boy looked remarkably disinterested. "Yeah."

Brittany stared at nothing while Artie poked at her knee. After a moment she said, "No further questions."

The silence returned, thick as ever. Puck wondered which questions they were all afraid to ask, but it didn't matter. He couldn't answer any of them.

"I know you aren't going to tell us anything," Tina said so softly Puck wouldn't have heard except for the silence Brittany left behind, "but can you tell us how much more you know than we do?" She clearly directed the question at Puck, but the jock looked to Kurt. The countertenor studied his nails in careful refusal to acknowledge anyone.

Puck shook his head and felt Kurt relax against him when he did.

"So, are you two like boyfriends now?" A few of the others glared at Santana, but she didn't take the question back.

"No," Puck growled. "I'm not even gay." Why would she think that?

"Could've fooled me the way you're fucking cuddling over there." Even if she hadn't opened her mouth, the cheerio's face said 'bitch please' clearly enough.

"I'm not cuddling anyone." Puck very carefully didn't move away from Kurt; that would be like admitting Santana was right.

"And you spend all your time alone in his room. And you fight like a married couple, except the stabbing; that's hardcore. And you've totally seen each other naked. Admit it, he kind of turned you on."

Puck wasn't sure how long he stared at Santana like she had just rubbed shit all over her face and called him her pony-boy. It must have been a while because his jaw started to cramp from hanging open.

"I don't think I'm all that attractive when you can see the scars, hun," Kurt said, his voice flat. Puck remembered his first glance of Kurt's body and wished he _were_ gay so he could tell Kurt he was beautiful and mean it.

It was the first time Kurt had mentioned his scars to anyone that Puck knew of.

"I was just saying," Santana said after everyone else made it clear they weren't about to speak. "You haven't done it with me once since coming back, and I'm getting horny over here."

Kurt laughed.

Puck scowled at him. "Why is that funny?"

The only answer Kurt gave was to pat him on the head and leave.

"You really need to get laid, Puckerman. I am not even kidding with you." Santana gave him a blatantly suggestive smolder before following Kurt's lead.

The others kept glancing at each other. Tina sneaked a glance or two at Puck too. He wanted to know what the hell they weren't saying.

"Oh my gosh," Brittany said as she turned to Puck and leaned over to rest a hand on his knee. "The last person besides you to touch your dick was Kurt."

Puck groaned. "Fuck." He definitely needed to get laid.


	39. Alex: You Can't Scare Me

"So I talked to Finn," Alex said and popped a grape into his mouth. He wasn't hungry but still liked the idea of food as prop. "He told me you did more than your fair share of research on Robbie while I was away."

Puck shot him the kind of look the jock usually saved for when people questioned his attractiveness. "Dude, everyone looked the psycho up as soon as we had a name to google."

"I got the impression you were more interested in Robin himself. Everyone else moped over his victims while you analyzed his strategy." The countertenor peeled the skin off another grape with his teeth.

The jock frowned. "You say that like I didn't care about the people he hurt, or about you. And you _know_ I do."

Alex tried on a light smile and swung his legs around so they crossed Puck's lap. Both teens sat on his bed, so it was an easy enough maneuver. Puck didn't bother to push him away yet. "Oh, I know. I only mean you cared about Robbie too, as more than a stupid name and an ugly scar."

"He does have a dumb name." Puck crossed his arms and looked downright broody. Alex smirked. For the first time, he thought he might be starting to get to the other boy.

"It took him two weeks, by the way. To rape me, I mean." He pressed the peeled grape between his lips and admired the way Puck's eyes widened. "He actually picked up Annette and fucked her in front of me first. Repeatedly and at length."

Clearly, Puck had no idea how to respond to that. Alex wasn't surprised.

"Honestly, it made me feel safe. He hadn't raped me yet, maybe he never would. Maybe I wasn't his type." The countertenor made himself smile condescendingly even though he wanted to cringe. "I was wrong, of course. He was just saving me for later, taking his time. Robbie could be patient when he put his mind to it."

"Do you know why I call him 'Banks'?" Puck interrupted. His expression was satisfyingly dark. "Because it keeps him at a distance. Because I don't want to be close to that. Maybe you should try it."

"Oh, Puck, that's sweet, but you may have noticed I already killed the fucker. And I really do want him back now. He hardly qualified as human, but he sure knew how to take care of a boy."

"Fuck." Puck flinched visibly. "You're playing me right now, aren't you?"

"Of course I am, but that doesn't mean I'm lying. I _do_ miss him, especially late at night when I'm horny but too afraid to touch myself because I don't feel like I understand sex enough to even masturbate anymore."

"And that is fucked up, dude. I mean it. How do you get off?"

Alex laughed. Of course Puck wouldn't be able to imagine a world without orgasms. "Mostly in my sleep. Why, do you want to watch?"

The other boy raised an eyebrow. "You know I don't."

"It was about control, really." He paused long enough to bite a grape in half. "Everything Robin did was to put him in control. He needed people to… to fixate on him, to obsess over him. Like you did. I'm sure he'd have loved to have more time with you."

"I noticed. Can I have some of those?" He motioned to the grapes. Alex wasn't sure if Puck was trying to change the subject or not, but he handed over some of the fruit.

"I've been trying to think what it was about Robbie that drew you to him." He popped the second half of the grape onto his tongue and licked its juice off his fingers.

"I'd say it was you since I didn't care except that he had kidnapped my friend."

"That was why it started, not why it continued. Don't confuse the two, Puck." Alex felt the jock tense beneath him and knew he was headed somewhere near the right direction. He ignored the guilt at manipulating Puck like this and tried not to look at the other teen's forearm. "You found Robbie because he took me. You fixated on him because he fascinated you."

"I didn't—"

"Which is why you knew it was unusual that Annette had gotten away with her life but still had the scar?"

Puck pulled his eyes away from Alex's and shoved a handful of grapes into his mouth before chewing savagely.

"Robbie knew how to dominate someone, how to make them his. In _every_ way, Puck."

"This is sick."

"This is truth. He battered his victims. Raped them. Scarred them physically and emotionally. He combined sex, pain, and psychology into the perfect form of control. The fucker knew what he was doing. He spent weeks hurting me, making sure I knew damn well I was his to do with has he pleased. Then he suddenly made tender love to me as though I weren't a victim and he wasn't a rapist. I didn't know what to expect from him. He could change everything in my life in seconds. Do you know why, Puck? Because he was in control."

Puck looked queasy. "Fuck, Kurt, I…"

"This isn't the time for sympathy. That's not why I'm telling you this. I'm talking about you; using myself as an example is merely an unfortunate side effect of my life's admittedly limited experience."

"My, aren't we talking prissy today. I think you're trying too hard, Kurt."

Alex scowled. "Only as hard as I need to. What kind of porn do you like?"

Puck froze and stared at Alex blank-faced. "What?"

"It's about the sex, right? Stare at it long enough and almost anything comes back to sex." It didn't need to be completely true, just true enough.

It was, apparently. Puck _finally_ looked freaked out like he had when Meg mistook him for Robbie, like when Annette mistook him for Kurt's boyfriend. So it _was_ sex.

"I remember when Kitty and I tied you up, I couldn't figure out the look on your face. Now I know. You were freaked out and scared, but you were also a little turned on, weren't you?" He smirked. "Robbie had a gift. He could turn pain, trauma, and fear into obsession and desire. He could _make_ people want him, make them _love_ him if he wanted to. And it was fucking hot. His face may have been ruined by the broken nose and the scar, but the sex was fucking amazing."

Puck looked almost ready to bolt. It shouldn't have made Alex's stomach churn. This was what he wanted.

"I know a lot of his secrets, you know. He used them on me; worked like a charm. Ask me anything you want. I can teach you to dominate me or anyone else the way he could. And trust me, it would be absolutely worth it."

"Kurt, you gotta know that's not what I want." Puck's voice had turned small.

The countertenor leaned forward and ran a hand down his friend's chest. It wasn't really flirty, but it didn't need to be. "Really? Then it's not about the power? It's not about controlling other people so completely that you can shape them regardless of their will? It's not about your body hopelessly, desperately wanting something your mind knows is wrong?"

Puck furrowed his brow and shook his head. "No. It's not."

"Then why are you trembling?"

The jock licked his lips. "It's about understanding. It's about knowing how people can be bent out of shape. I didn't look up Robin Banks because I wanted to be like him. It was because I wanted to know how a person like him could even be possible."

"And the bondage? Because trust me, I am _not_ wrong about that part." He arched an eyebrow and hoped Puck would collapse or run away.

Puck shrugged. "Whatever, I'm allowed to have a kink. It's not like I enjoy the stuff where people are actually hurt or anything."

"I'm hurt." He jerked off an arm warmer and held up his scarred wrist.

"Banks was doing it wrong. It's supposed to be about restraint, not pain."

Alex redressed his wrist. "You looked that up online, didn't you?"

Puck shrugged, then nodded.

"Is there anything you don't google?"

Puck nodded, then shrugged.

"You're fucking useless; you know that? This was supposed to scare you off, not help you come to terms with the fucked-upedness of your mind and dick."

The jock placed a hand on Alex's shoulder and looked him gravely in the eye. "I fucking know that, you prissy little bitch. And it's about time you realized you can't scare me off. You can't scare your friends off. And you can't scare your family off. Kurt, you're stuck with us."

Alex growled and swung his legs off the other teen's lap. "Just make sure you major in psych when you go to college. You can learn about how people like Robbie become sociopaths."

"Will do, Kurt." When the jock's strong arms wrapped around the countertenor's torso, he realized Puck hadn't ever properly embraced him before. The quick little hug the jock gave him after Annette left hardly counted.

Alex hated hugs.

Puck pulled away and stood up. "I'm supposed to be home for dinner tonight, so I'll see you tomorrow, okay?"

"No. I don't want to." Alex shook his head. "You make me nauseous."

"And you give me headaches worse than hangovers, so we're even." He grinned and left.

Alex scowled. He tried to finger the knife in his pocket, but it didn't feel right. He tried to think of other ways to drive Puck away, but nothing came to mind that would actually fucking work.

Jack came to mind though. Alex squeezed his eyes shut and curled into a tight ball. "Fuck no," he whispered to himself. He couldn't do that again.

Robin came to mind too, but then, Robin always did.


	40. Puck: Believe Me

"That was really brave, Puck." Quinn brushed her hair behind her ear in a way that made her look, adorable, nervous, and absolutely gorgeous all at once. Puck didn't even need to know how she managed it just so long as he could watch.

"Lots of things I do are brave because I'm fucking awesome, so what are we talking about now?" He smiled. For once, Puck hadn't had to corner the head cheerleader. She found him, pulled him aside, and said something nice about him of her own will.

"When you told everyone what happened to you."

"Oh, uh, it wasn't that bad since mostly nothing happened to me."

Quinn put her hands on her hips and stared Puck down. "You were kidnapped. Your life was threatened. You were stripped of your clothes. You were tied up. You were sexually assaulted, even if it didn't make it all the way to becoming rape. Based on what you've said, though, it would have if Banks hadn't had to leave early. Oh, and since then, you've been stabbed. None of this seems like a big deal to you?"

Puck shrugged. "I don't think of it the same way you said it." It made his skin feel crawly the way she said it.

"Puck," the cheerio sighed. "Do you remember when you were sad Kurt was gone, so you acted angry all the time?"

"Yeah, so what?" He tried not to glare at Quinn.

"So it never occurred to you that you have a remarkable ability to lie to yourself?"

Puck scowled and tried not to fidget. He wanted to go find Kurt and argue about something easy. "I don't—"

"You do. Puck, just because Kurt has been through so much more than anyone ever should doesn't mean what happened to you can be brushed aside. You have been hurt too." She stepped closer to the jock and rested a hand against his cheek.

When he flinched, Puck tried to turn it into stepping away. Based on her expression, he doubted he had fooled Quinn though. "You talk like I should be lying around whining about how bad I have it when Kurt is _right there_ to show me exactly how lucky I was," he growled. Kurt was at his therapist's office now, but he hadn't meant it literally anyway.

"No, I talk like you're a brave man trying as hard as he can to help his friend even though it means ignoring the help he should be getting for himself." She took a deep breath. "You are doing so much for Kurt. I want you to know I'm here for _you_ too."

"Um. Thanks?"

She kind of glared at him, so that wasn't what the cheerio wanted Puck to say. "Puck, you don't have to keep up a front with me anymore. Please let me in."

Fuck, how was he supposed to respond to that? "I can't think about what's happened the way you do, Quinn. It would change how I look at Kurt, and we can't afford that." Puck hadn't expected to say anything like that. He licked his lips nervously.

The cheerleader looked sad. She moved in to hug Puck. Hell, maybe he'd said what she wanted after all. "How _do_ you think about it, Puck?"

He tried to shrug, but it was sort of awkward with Quinn's arms still around him. "I guess like little pieces of what's happened to Kurt fell off and I didn't quite dodge them all the way. Or something." Like they were no big deal because he could never see them except compared to all the ways Kurt had been hurt.

"I know Kurt probably hasn't thanked you for all you've done, but we can all see it, Puck. We know how much you're doing for him, and thank you. Thank you so much. You are the most amazing guy I've ever known. I mean it."

Great, Puck was fidgeting again. He couldn't help it. This sort of sentimental thing was as far from anything he was good at as was probably possible. Usually, he'd be good at taking compliments, but this was different. This meant something more than that he was hot. Puck had never really tried to convince anyone he was more than that. Hell, he hadn't tried now, but it happened anyway.

Quinn looked up at him with a smug little smile. "Stop being so nervous and just kiss me."

Now _that_ he could manage. Puck ran the fingers of one hand through Quinn's perfect, silky-soft hair and cupped her chin with the other. He pressed their lips together lightly and deepened the kiss slowly as Quinn tightened her arms around his neck.

When Quinn broke the kiss, she did it slowly. "I guess you should know," she said, brushing her hair back into place as she licked her lips, "I think you're worth absolutely anything, even a broken heart."

The warm pressure spreading through Puck's chest was unfamiliar to him. It reminded him of how he'd felt when Beth was born. He blinked rapidly when the feeling spread up his neck and behind his eyes because Noah Puckerman was _not_ about to cry.

Puck managed to smile instead. "I love you," he said even though he didn't trust his voice all that much. It came out clearly anyway.

Quinn buried her face against his neck and held onto him tightly. "I love you too."

"I won't brea—"

"Please don't, Puck, not now."

He frowned. It wasn't like he was lying. He _wouldn't_ break her heart. And here she was, saying she loved him and everything, but still fucking believing he would hurt her. Puck buried a hand in Quinn's hair to keep her face pressed lightly against his neck so that she couldn't see his expression. That would only upset her more.

Then Puck smiled because he realized he had a chance to prove her wrong. He was pretty sure Quinn had just finally agreed to let him be her boyfriend. If Puck didn't cheat on her, or mistreat her, or pressure her, or make her feel like crap, Quinn would have to change her mind. So, really, all he had to do was love her. And ignore Santana, but he'd been doing that since a little while before he ran off to find Kurt.

"Fine, not now," he said, dropping his hand and taking a small step back so he could look Quinn in the eye. "But make sure you tell me when you do believe me."

The cheerio's lips twitched just barely into the most beautiful not-smile Puck had ever seen. He grinned and kissed her again.


	41. Alex: Who You're Not

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just please read the entire chapter before you rage-quit and call me a sick freak, okay?

_Fine._ If Puck refused to believe Alex wasn't Kurt anymore on his own, then the countertenor would just have to make him. He had never stashed handcuffs or rope in his closet, but the thing practically overflowed with scarves. Different colored scarves, different shades of the same colored scarves, long scarves, short scarves, thick scarves, lightweight scarves, designer scarves, bargain scarves, and even great for tying people up scarves.

Alex tried to smile maliciously, but it came out as a frown. Still, he was ready. He had two scarves, each with one end tied to a post on his headboard and the other end loosely knotted the way Kitty and Rob had shown him, waiting to be filled and tightened.

This was the last thing Alex knew how to do. It was the reason he denied Kurt Hummel in favor of Alexander Hood. Puck didn't understand it. Soon, though, he would. And then he would beg Alex to leave.

This time Alex didn't bother trying for a smirk. He scowled and piled his pillows up to hide the scarves. The fingers of his right hand brushed against his pocket, checking again for the knife Annette had brought him. He had no plans to use it but wanted something dangerous on hand just in case. Maybe if he was particularly unlucky—or was it the opposite?—Alex would awaken the raging sociopath within Puck. He patted the knife. Just in case.

He lay back on the bed and tried to look bored.

When Finn came down instead of Puck, Alex worried he wouldn't get his chance today.

"Hey, Kurt," the quarterback said with a goofy grin on his face, "I got your homework. Rachel says it'll be easier for you to come back later if you can keep track of what you're missing." He dropped some papers onto Alex's desk. "I, uh, can't really do much about last semester, but you're like a thousand times smarter than me, so you probably won't have that much trouble."

The taller teen didn't even have the decency to be annoyed that Alex on scowled at him.

Finn shuffled his feet a moment before speaking again. "I know you don't want to go back to McKinley, but it'll at least give you something to do while you're down here, right? Anyway, I'll see you in a bit. Mom's making that crock pot thing with the chicken, and she wants me to help chop veggies because Quinn and Mike shouldn't have to do it every time." The jock waved as he left the room, and Alex rolled his eyes.

Puck practically danced down the stairs once Finn left. Alex wondered briefly if he had been waiting for the other boy.

"Why are you so… bouncy?" Alex made sure to look at Puck like the jock was an absolute moron.

"Because, I still have a pretty blond girlfriend who I am completely in love with." He danced over to the bed and dropped himself, grinning like a maniac, down next to Alex.

"Well, stop. It's annoying."

"What's this? Could poor Kurt be… jealous? Well, dude, it's your own fault for not trying to woo Quinn yourself. Though I," he jabbed himself in the chest with his thumb, "probably still would've had an advantage as the father of her child."

"That'd be a detractor, actually. She'd have kept the kid if she wanted to raise her with you." Alex crossed his arms over his chest but scooted over to make room for Puck.

"Psha!" Puck waved his hand as though brushing aside Alex's comment. "She gave Beth up because she was _sixteen_ , not because of me."

"Another detractor: the guy who got her pregnant when she was only sixteen." Alex raised an eyebrow.

"Whatever, we're still dating now anyway. You're in a mood today, aren't you? Again, I mean." He leaned back against the headboard.

"Only every time I see you, Puck. And I'm pretty sure making out with Quinn actually makes you reverse mature because you're acting like a kid."

"Or," Puck jutted his chin forward, "I'm just happy."

"So happiness is detrimental to your emotional and mental maturity. Wonderful."

"Dude, don't be a dick." Puck smiled as he said it though, and shifted to lie down beside Kurt. "Are we finding shapes in the ceiling texture stuff? Because that one looks like a ducky."

Alex sighed because Puck was an idiot. He turned toward the other teen. "Give me your hand." He had debated through most of the day how best to restrain Puck given that the other boy was stronger than he. Then he realized he could trick Puck into helping him.

"Why? Is it a gay thing?"

"You're a gay thing. Hand."

Puck rolled his eyes but placed his hand in Alex's. The countertenor pulled the other teen's arm up and tightened the knot around his wrist before Puck could realize what was happening.

"What the fuck, Kurt?" Puck struggled, but Alex had planned for that.

He straddled the jock's chest and used his body weight to force Puck's other hand toward the second knot. Once he had the second arm secure, Alex slid back to sit between Puck's legs.

"Is this like payback for being into bondage after knowing you were tied up? 'Cause I already said it's different."

Alex laughed. "That's what Robbie asked when I had him in this position too: if it was payback."

Puck growled, "Fine, whatever, I don't fucking care. So what the hell _is_ it?"

"Understanding. That's what you want, isn't it? Why you studied Robbie so hard?" He pushed Puck's shirt up until in bunched against his armpits and slid his hands back down along the jock's torso until it reached the waistband of his jeans.

"Kurt, just untie me." He looked more annoyed than frightened. Alex could remedy that.

The countertenor leaned forward and licked one of Puck's nipples before taking it lightly between his teeth. The larger teen writhed beneath him, trying to squirm away. Alex flinched back. Fuck, he couldn't do it. He had to do it. He focused on breathing slowly to calm himself.

"Are we back on your proving yourself evil stint because, Kurt, you _aren't_. So we can quit now while we're ahead."

"I am not Kurt," Alex growled.

"Yes, you little shit, you are! Who you're not is Alex."

"You don't fucking know what you're talking about, Puckerman. You don't know me." Alex stilled the trembling in his hands by pressing them firmly against Puck's abs.

"I know you think you're a rapist and a murderer, but you're not. None of that was your fault."

He knew? No, not completely. Not everything. Not enough. Alex sneered, "You can say that because you don't know the whole story."

"So tell it to me. I'm not exactly going anywhere." Puck shook his arms as if to prove he was restrained.

Alex hesitated. "You'll just twist it around to tell the story you want. I want you to let me leave, not to convince me I don't need to."

"Bullshit."

That brought Alex up short. Bullshit? What the hell was that supposed to mean? He stared at Puck until the other boy continued.

"If you really wanted to leave, you'd be long gone."

"I-I made a deal with you. I have to prove—"

"No, Kurt, that's not how it works. You made the deal because you _wanted_ to come back. You could have refused. You could have stayed with Meg or forced me to carry you home. But you let me talk you into it." Puck had stopped struggling. The look in his eyes and the tone of his voice made Alex feel like the one tied up.

"It's not like I'm staying. I'll leave as soon as you let me." He rubbed his hands together mostly to prove to himself that he could.

"I'm not keeping you here. Burt's not even keeping you here. He installed that lock but has never once used it. You know that, right? That he wants you to think you need to stay but could never bring himself to force you, not after what you've already been through. _You_ keep yourself here, Kurt. You could walk out that door and find your way out of Lima as easily as I could. Hell, some of us would probably welcome it because at least you wouldn't be holed up in here any longer." Puck's voice rose, but he stopped it short of yelling.

"I'll leave then. I don't deserve to stay here." Alex couldn't look the other teen in the eye. He knew that was stupid, but he let his gaze linger on Puck's neck instead.

"You don't get to decide that. Everyone's upstairs, you know. They're always upstairs. All they do is wait for the day when you come out of here and join them. Because we—your family and friends—we're the ones who get to decide what you deserve."

Alex scowled. "No, you don't. Because you _don't understand._ " His fingers found the button of Puck's jeans and tore at it until it came unclasped. Then he jerked down the zipper and yanked the pants off of Puck's legs. As he tossed them to the floor, Alex said, "And once you do understand, you'll agree with me."

"Then tell me, Kurt, what is it I don't understand?"

"That you should stop fucking calling me that." He grabbed and twisted Puck's nipple hard enough that the jock let out something between a whine and a whimper. "That it is my fault." Alex licked his lips and ran a finger along the contours of Puck's chest, trying to distract himself by admiring just how fucking hot the other boy was. Eventually he sat back and dropped his hands into his lap. "His name was Jack."

Puck didn't respond, but his eyes stayed on Alex.

"He was a shitnosed jackass from what I could tell, but he still didn't deserved it. I… I had seen Robin rape people before. Well, seen him rape Annette." Alex paused to reign in his voice. Then he licked his lips and continued, "Robbie was going to kill me. He'd been working me up to this, apparently, and if I couldn't do it, I wasn't worth any more of his time."

"That doesn't sound like he gave you a choice, Kurt."

"I let him put his hands on me. I _liked_ his hands on me. The rest was pretty much a guaranteed turn-off, but I still let him pump my cock until it was hard enough to press into an innocent guy's asshole against his will. I even fucking helped. And I was _glad_ he kept his hands on me because I'd never have gotten it up otherwise."

"Which is all fucked up and depressing as shit, but not your fault."

"Afterward, Robbie told me to kill Jack. I tried to convince him to let Jack go, but Rob put the knife in my hand and shoved it into Jack's neck."

Puck frowned but smoothed his features quickly. "That's not your fault either."

"It didn't kill him. I told Robin to finish it because Jack would have just suffered until he died anyway because no one could have found him."

"Which is something the sane among us like to call mercy."

Alex smirked. "You didn't say it wasn't my fault."

"Well, since it wasn't, you still can't take credit. Banks injured the guy bad enough to eventually kill him, and Banks made sure it happened in a place where no one would find Jack until long after he'd died. So he forced your hand, which means, my fuckbrained little friend, that it wasn't your fault." Puck actually looked smug.

"Then I killed Robbie and Kitty too."

Puck's shoulders jerked in what probably would have been a shrug if he weren't tied up. "You had to. They'd have just found a way to hunt you down and either kill you or kidnap you again if you hadn't."

Alex frowned. He had known Puck would twist things around this way, making it seem like Alex was entirely innocent.

"I didn't have to use the knife like I did. I could have shot them both."

"You wanted to scare us off, right? Convince us from afar that you aren't worth saving anymore." He waited just long enough for Alex to stare at him in shock for a moment. "What? Did you expect it to work?"

"It's still my fault though, isn't it?"

"No. The asshole deserved that and more, so I'd be on board even if it were your fault, but no. You did what you thought you had to based on all the ways he'd already fucked you up. It's still Banks' fault you weren't thinking straight. This," he shook his arms again, "I call his fault too because the only reason you're so messed up is that freak."

Alex scowled and jerked Puck's boxers down to the jock's knees. He pressed his hand along the inside of Puck's thigh. "Is this his fault too?" His breath came in sharp gasps.

"I'll go with yes. So stop it." Puck had started struggling again.

Alex twitched his mouth into something like a smirk. "It freaks you out though, doesn't it?" He pressed his body along Puck's, sliding a knee between the jock's legs.

"Kurt, we've been here before. Or something similar. Just untie me and give me my pants back, okay. Because seriously, dude, this is fucked up."

"Which is the point I've been trying to make. It's fucked up, Puck, because _I'm_ fucked up." Alex slid his hand slowly up Puck's leg.

When Puck replied, his voice sounded strained. "I never said you weren't."

Alex bit his lip. He knew it wouldn't really be hard to press a finger into the other teen. Not physically. But his hand stopped three quarters of the way up Puck's thigh. Alex's whole body trembled. He couldn't do it. Puck wouldn't understand unless he did it. He had to. He couldn't.

"You know I love you like you're my brother, Kurt."

Only after Puck spoke did it even occur to the countertenor that if he couldn't do it, then maybe it wasn't _Puck's_ logic that needed work. The countertenor had missed something somewhere because this should have been easy after what he did to Jack and Robbie.

Except no one was making him and Puck had never hurt him enough to warrant this.

He pulled his hand away from Puck's thigh to untie the scarves holding the jock to the bed. Then the countertenor moved to the foot of the bed and curled up with his chin on his knees and his arms around his legs while Puck pulled his pants back on. He wondered if he would ever stop sleeping with his arms above his head, and if he would ever meet someone else who accepted him as fully as Puck did. If he deserved to. But maybe parts of him still did.


	42. Puck: You Deserve the Chance

Puck sat on the bed beside Kurt and put an arm around the smaller boy. Kurt flinched but then leaned into the embrace.

"What you just did to me was some fucked up shit, Kurt. But you know I forgive you."

Kurt trembled, and Puck held him tighter. "You don't really think it wasn't my fault, do you?"

"If I say no are you going to tie me up again?" Puck meant it as a joke, but Kurt shook his head as though it had been a serious question. "In that case, it's a little bit your fault. Doesn't matter though. I forgive you either way." Puck would never admit it, but he hadn't known in the end if Kurt would go through with it. Until this, he'd even thought Kurt was getting better, but… He would have pissed his pants except that he hadn't been wearing any at the time and Kurt would definitely have noticed that.

"How?"  
"What do you mean 'how'? You're my boy, and I knew you were messed up before I came down here. I mean, you already stabbed me, and I still came back."

Kurt flinched. Fuck, maybe Puck shouldn't have brought that up. "I, um, I am sorry, Puck. I just, I don't even know. If I could take it back, I would."

"Dude, I know."

"But why do you come back? Why don't you hate me after what I've done to you?"

"Because I don't think what you do right now limits the person you can become once you realize you deserve the chance." He rubbed at the stubble of hair around his mohawk. What he'd said was fucking cheesy, but it seemed like the right thing to tell Kurt right now. And it was true, so that helped

"If you ever realize you've been in denial and are totally into other guys, I won't make fun of you for realizing it late or compare you to Robin again."

Oh shit. Not good. "Kurt, I, um…" Fuck, just not good.

"Relax, Puck. I know. You're straight, dating Quinn, and love me _like a brother_. I know. I… I guess I don't really know, I just said it."

"Oh. Um. Okay."

"Don't be such a dipshit, Puck. It doesn't change anything."

Puck licked his lips nervously. "I thought you didn't like me."

Kurt sort of shrugged, but the weight of Puck's arm kept his shoulders from rising smoothly. "That can change. It probably will again once I remember why I never liked you before."

Puck found his bravado and brought it out because, like Kurt said, nothing had really changed. "It's probably from staring at my cock too long, man. It's sort of unavoidable when you're as hot _and_ hung as I am."

Kurt chuckled. It sounded nice. "Not _that_ hung, Puckerman."

"Hey! Plenty hung for—"

Kurt laughed again and patted him on the cheek. "Calm down. I don't think we need to have an argument about your junk."

"Good point." Puck paused. "You wanna come upstairs with me?"

Kurt hesitated and licked his lips. His eyes darted around the room until eventually they landed back on Puck's face. "No, but I will."

"Close enough." He took Kurt by the hand and led him out to the living room where everyone sat while some cartoon played on the TV.

No one was really watching, except Brittany, and Finn waved at Kurt and Puck, grinning like the dopiest idiot in the world. Rachel and Mercedes moved off the couch and all but forced Kurt and Puck to sit in their places.

"So," Finn said after a moment, "what's up."

Kurt just squeezed Puck's hand and leaned in closer to him, so the jock answered, "Nothing. His room just gets boring, you know, it looks the same every time I go down there. He could at least make a mess for me to look at, seriously." He mock frowned, and it turned into a grin when Kurt smiled just a little.

"You're a fucking idiot," the countertenor said, but he was still smiling.

"Since you've taken up professional hand-holding," Quinn said, motioning to where Puck and Kurt's fingers were still interlaced in the smaller teen's lap, "Do you think I could have a try with the other hand?" She squeezed into the space between Puck and the arm of the couch.

"Well, that depends entirely on how much you're willing to pay. I do accept kisses in place of cash." Puck smirked.

"In that case…" Quinn leaned forward to press her lips briefly against his as she slid her fingers between his.

"I think you two are making me nauseous," Kurt said.

Fuck. Puck needed something clever to say. Something that didn't sound like, 'Kurt, I'm not your fucking boyfriend.' He frowned. "If you wanted to kiss Quinn, you should have offered to hold her hand instead of me. Seriously, dude, get with the program here."

Quinn laughed airily. Kurt didn't. Puck would have groaned except then he'd have to explain that.

"So you guys just came upstairs for the heck of it? No reason?" Artie asked.

Puck nodded and grinned because yeah, Kurt hadn't come out of his room for no reason since getting home. When Kurt frowned suddenly, Puck worried they'd be running back downstairs to hide away again.

"I never thought to ask what Pierce's sentence was," the countertenor said and bit his lower lip.

"Dude, he got life. The hostage he shot died on the way to the hospital, so they got him for murder on top of everything else." Puck had checked to make sure the jerk-off could never come after Kurt again.

"Oh. That's nice." Kurt brushed his bangs back and brought his hand back down to rest on Puck's forearm.

"You are so fucking weird."

"Puck!" Finn nearly shouted the name. "Don't talk to him like that."

"What? And lie to him? Kurt likes my honesty. Probably. Right, Kurt?"

"All I can say is that you are such a fucking moron. Which I guess is a yes." Kurt managed to look smug without smiling.

Puck realized Kurt had been wrong when he said nothing had changed. Kurt still acted pretty much the same, but it was different knowing the countertenor did it because he wanted to than because he thought it would freak Puck out. It made him sort of nervous because if Kurt liked him like that, then he could break Kurt's heart by accident. But Kurt wasn't stupid, right? He knew Puck was straight. He'd even said he knew.

But he still told Puck, so maybe he had hoped Puck knowing _would_ change something. Would make Puck discover some unknown feelings for Kurt. And fuck, Quinn was saying his name, and Puck had no idea why.

"Huh?"

"Eloquent, Puck, really." She smiled in a way that said she thought he was cute even as he annoyed her. Puck could handle that. "I asked how you convinced Kurt to join us tonight."

"And I said you probably bribed him," Santana glowered at the three teens on the couch, but she had still come.

"And Artie told me it probably wasn't with sexual favors because that would be weird for both of you," Brittany added.

Kurt buried his face against Puck's arm as Brittany spoke. And, God, Kurt would probably be on board to trade kisses for socializing. Puck did groan this time. "Guys, I just waited around till he was ready on his own. Then I asked him to come up here with me." That was even sort of true. "I may also have said something sappy, but I blocked it from my memory."

Kurt giggled, and oh hell, if everyone there didn't know how bad he was after Puckzilla after that, they were more lost than Brittany and Finn in a library where everyone spoke whatever the German version of pig latin was. And, yeah, Quinn was giving them a look. And fuck, what if she thought he was cheating on her with a dude? With a scarred and traumatized dude who couldn't really handle a relationship right now.

"You're such a modest bitch. I'm pretty sure he channeled the lovechild of Barney and Mr. Schuester's hair. And I think he learned it from the hopelessly drunk phase I've heard he went through," Kurt said. Puck wasn't sure if that would help or hurt his chances of not having everyone think he and Kurt were secretly dating behind Quinn's back.

"But… I'm not purple or curly."

Kurt smirked. "You _are_ stupid. That's close enough. And terribly cute, I'm sure." He rolled his eyes but squeezed Puck's hand.

"Hey, not that dumb. Found your skinny ass, didn't I?"

"Boys," Quinn interrupted. "You can stop flirting. Or trying to convince us you're not flirting, whichever that was supposed to be."

Puck let his head fall back against the coach as Kurt _snuggled_ up to him. How was this fair? When Quinn cuddled up to his other side and planted a soft kiss against his neck, Puck decided maybe it was a _little bit_ fair.


	43. Kurt

Kurt. It was a short name. A curt name if he was feeling punny. It wasn't a very pretty name, but neither was Alex, really. Still, something had made his parents choose Kurt. He couldn't remember if they had ever told him, though they must have, probably sometime before his mother died.

Kurt sounded a lot like his father's name. Snip the top and bottom connectors of Burt's B so the arms waved free and it became a K. Burt became Kurt. He wondered if his father had ever noticed.

Kurt was the name of one of the boys in the Sound of Music. The countertenor had always felt he shared a secret bond with Kurt von Trapp because they had the same name. He knew his mother must have noticed that. He could remember singing "My Favorite Things" with her when he was sad, though he had no idea now what had upset him.

Could he just go back to that? Switch names and be okay again? Be the person everyone here wanted him to be again? If it were so simple, he thought he'd have done it by now. He'd have cast Alex from him and smashed his twisted fucking face in by now. He buried his face in Puck's bicep to hide the way he bared his teeth at himself. It seemed strange to realize so late just how much he hated Alex.

Just how much he hated himself.

The countertenor licked his lips. Some part of him knew he had already decided, but it was different to admit it. He opened his mouth to force the words out, and a silence formed around them. "You all can call me Kurt again. It's not like I ever got you to stop in the first place."

After a moment, Puck grinned and hugged him. Kurt—the name felt strange, like an old coat that had sat bunched on the floor so long it lost its shape—snaked an arm around Puck's waist and held on until Puck pulled back.

Changing names was supposed to make a difference, make him feel different. That was the point of becoming Alex: that he was different from Kurt. The name was supposed to matter. Kurt felt exactly as Alex had five minutes ago. Well, maybe the beaming faces surrounding him left Kurt just a little more bitter.

Finn had left the room, and he returned with Burt. Both of them smiled, and Kurt noticed tears at the corners of his father's eyes. Clearly, they were as confused as he. They thought the name meant something too. Kurt wrapped his arms around himself and stared at the floor as Burt sat down beside him.

"Kurt, I…" Burt never finished the sentence. He threw his arms around Kurt instead, pulling him into a tight hug and rocking back and forth with his son.

"It's not as big a deal as that," Kurt said, trying, and failing, to pull himself away from Burt.

"Are you kidding? My boy comes home and refuses to even go by his own name; I call it a big deal when he says the name I gave him is worth something again."

"I never thought it—that's not why I changed it."

Burt ruffled Kurt's hair. "I know, son. I just… I'm happy is all. I feel like you came the rest of the way home, like I've still been waiting for you even since New Year's."

Kurt bit back a bitter laugh. If that was what Burt wanted, then he'd still be waiting for a while yet, maybe forever. He said only, "But nothing changed. I'm still the same."

"Bullshit," Puck said, elbowing Kurt in the ribs. Oh, sure, Puck hadn't called him on it when Kurt lied that his feelings for the jock changed nothing, but now, when the countertenor actually meant it, Puck protested. Kurt rolled his eyes.

"No, he's right, Kurt. Maybe you don't feel much different, but you made a decision tonight. You decided who you want to be, even if it's not who you feel like you are now." Burt stared his son in the eye as he spoke. Somehow, Kurt had convinced himself that his father didn't understand anything about him. But, really, Kurt just hadn't been paying attention. He hadn't wanted to.

Then Burt pulled the boy into another crushing hug. This time Kurt pushed away a little too hard. "I can't breathe like that," he muttered in answer to the hurt look on his dad's face. He settled himself back against the couch so that his shoulder and knee brushed against Puck's. Kurt couldn't tell if the jock noticed. Burt sat for a moment but ran off to the kitchen when the fire alarm began blaring. The others laughed it off, so Kurt guessed his father had been cooking something.

"So, um, Kurt, do you want to tell us why you changed your name?" Rachel's gaze focused on Kurt's hands instead of his eyes.

"No." He frowned.

"Oh."

"What?" he asked, "Did you think I would suddenly be all better and share all my troubles with you so the world could turn to sunshine and unicorn vomit? Because, really Rachel, not so much. I still don't think anything that happened to me is any of your business." He scowled and tried not to wince at the hurt look on Rachel's face.

"No, Kurt, I… I just—"

"You what? Thought you could _help_ me? Make me all fucking better? Let me guess, you'd do it through song."

Puck grabbed Kurt by the arm. "Dude, chill the fuck out."

"No. I'm not a magic eight ball they can just ask questions of whenever they want!" Not when he couldn't afford to answer the questions. One or two might seem harmless enough, but eventually someone would ask him 'What did you do?' and he would fall apart. If they knew, they would hate him even more than he hated himself.

Fuck, his hands were shaking.

And it was true: he hadn't changed since retaking his old name. Everything that he'd convinced himself had happened to Alex, had happened to _Kurt_. Everything he pretended Alex had done, _Kurt_ had done. _Kurt_ had raped Jack. _Kurt_ had murdered Jack. _Kurt_ had robbed a bank. _Kurt_ had let people be killed. _Kurt_ had put a bullet through Kitty's brain. _Kurt_ had rammed a blade up Robin's ass. _Kurt_ had carved his own name into Rob's chest. And then _Kurt_ had slit the motherfucker's throat. _Kurt_ had almost raped Puck. Twice.

Not Alex. _Kurt_.

What the hell was the point of using different names if he was always stuck as the same person? Why couldn't he shed his identity by swapping out a few letters and sounds the way he did shoes? Better yet, why couldn't he just forget everything that had happened since October? And why did Puck, who knew more than anyone else of what Kurt had done, who more than anyone else had been hurt by Kurt, wrap his arms around the countertenor and tell him it would all be alright?

Kurt trembled in Puck's arms and cried against the other teen's shoulder even though he didn't want anyone to see him fall apart.


	44. Finn: A Good Brother

Finn wasn't a good brother. He had tried. He brought Kurt his homework after school every day and warm milk every evening. He drew baths for Kurt and took his food downstairs when Kurt didn't feel up to joining the others. Finn, not Burt or Carol, kept in contact with all of Kurt's teachers and Principal Figgins. He just wanted everything to be okay for Kurt, for Kurt to have a place to come back to once he was able.

All Puck did was lie around on Kurt's bed and tell Kurt how fucked up he was. And, somehow, Puck was better for Kurt than Finn could ever be. Maybe it was because Puck had been taken too and sort of almost knew what had happened to the countertenor. Finn couldn't bring himself to ask or to admit he cared. What it came down to was that Kurt didn't need Finn, didn't even want most of the things Finn did for him.

Kurt took his name back because of Puck. Not Finn.

Finn was up watching the _Powerpuff Girls_ with Brittany when Puck convinced Kurt to leave his room and be himself again. Because Finn was useless. He was worse than useless, but he could never remember the right words for it. Someday, Finn knew, he would try to do too much and Kurt would finally remind him of the words. He would scream them in the quarterback's face and tell him to get the fuck out but send Puck in after he left. Because only Puck could be good for Kurt. Only Puck did what Kurt needed him to. Finn tried sometimes not to be jealous of Puck. It hadn't worked yet.

He chewed on the already ragged end of his pencil and wished he could just go home. Not that he knew what he'd do once he got there. Hand Kurt some papers, say something stupid, and wander up to play some old Sonic the Hedgehog games with Mike, probably. Nothing worth doing.

The bell rang, but Finn still didn't leave. He had to pick up a copy of today's quiz to take home to Kurt. Then he had glee club, and after that he had to stop by the grocery store for milk and some other things he couldn't pronounce but Kurt had written down for him. The teacher ran his usual crap about worrying how useful a pop quiz could be to Kurt if he could just open a textbook and copy out the answers, but Finn grinned and promised to have one of their parents supervise Kurt while he took it. It didn't even bother Finn anymore that that was a lie.

During glee, he smiled and sang a sappy duet with Rachel. No one said anything when he missed a note or two, and Mr. Schue didn't get on to him for having more trouble with the choreography than usual when they practiced their next group number during the second half of the club meeting. Rachel kept looking at him funny though.

"Finn, wait," Rachel called before the jock could bolt from the choir room after practice. "You seem... distracted. Is everything okay?"

He gave her the crooked smile he knew she liked. "Everything's fine. I gotta stop by the store before going home, so I should—"

"You know I love you Finn, but you are a terrible liar. Now tell me what's bothering you." The diva took her boyfriend's hand in hers. "And don't say it's nothing. You should be happier than anyone now that Kurt's finally started doing better, but you actually seem more upset than before."

"He's not doing any differently." Finn avoided looking Rachel in the eye.

"But he started going by his real name again. That has to make some kind of a difference. Why would he have done it if he were just going to continue acting the same? And he does sit with us a little more than he used to."

That was true enough, but Rachel wasn't around most of the time. She couldn't be. Finn was the only one who listened to Kurt's screams at night, the only one who gave up hours of sleep to make Kurt feel safe enough to close his eyes again. Even Burt didn't know how many nightmares his son still had because Finn always tried to wake Kurt before he could wake anyone else.

"So? That's all we've got. A name and a little face time. He hurts just as much as before." And Finn couldn't help.

Rachel hugged him then, but the jock pulled away and left her in the hallway. He had to get home soon or he wouldn't get the ingredients to Kurt in time for him to make dinner. Kurt had actually seemed sort of excited about cooking again, so Finn didn't want to let him down.

He rushed through the store hoping he got all the right stuff because he'd never even heard of most of it. When he made it home, Kurt was already in the kitchen.

"Finally," he sighed. "Did you stop to watch a fucking parade?" The countertenor unpacked the groceries, frowning at a few of the packages, but he didn't say anything about them. "I can handle the rest, Finn."

The jock nodded. "I'll, uh, leave your school stuff on your desk."

"Sure. Whatever."

Finn tramped into the basement. Papers already cluttered Kurt's desk, so the quarterback just added to the pile of schoolwork he'd left already. Since he had no idea what else to do, he wandered back upstairs to find Mercedes, Sam, and Rachel chatting in the living room. He wondered if the couch was going to smell like perfume all night again.

"Hey, guys, what's up?" He dropped himself into the recliner.

"Apparently we're food testers," Sam said. "Kurt wants the food to actually be good when you all eat it, so we get to try the off stuff until he gets it right."

"I'm not complaining," Mercedes added. "Imperfect or not, it's still amazing. That boy can cook."

"Don't worry though, we'll be out of the way before dinner since it's family-only tonight." Rachel smiled reassuringly.

"Uh, thanks?" Finn would have said more if he knew what words would fit. Instead, he dropped his head back against the chair and closed his eyes. He wished he had his own room so he could take a nap.

"So, I think you and I should accompany the group number for next week's assembly with a duet. I was thinking 'People Will Say We're In Love' from Oklahoma, or if you think that's too slow—"

"Rache, I don't even know what that is. But we sang together at the last assembly. Maybe we should switch it up and let someone else have a turn." Finn rubbed his eyes. He was too tired to learn another duet.

"I hear that!" Mercedes broke in before Rachel could say anything. "I volunteer myself."

Sam laughed, and Mercedes volunteered him too. Rachel convinced them to sing whatever it was she had just suggested she and Finn sing, rather than giving up control completely. Finn tuned them out and wondered how long it would take to finish his math homework because he did not want to start it yet.

A clatter startled Finn, and he opened his eyes to find Kurt pointing at a platter he had just tossed onto the coffee table. "These are all lopsided. Eat them. Not you, Finn. I want you to eat later."

The jock shrugged and settled back into his chair as Kurt left the room. He must have fallen asleep because the next thing he knew, Kurt was shaking him awake.

"Come on, frankenteen, we're getting tired of waiting on you."

"Sorry, Kurt," he smiled sheepishly and wiped some drool from the corner of his mouth before following Kurt to the dining table.

"Did you have a good nap?" Carol asked. She was smiling.

"I guess." Finn scratched at the back of his neck and took his seat. "I don't even remember falling asleep."

Kurt rolled his eyes. "Is that surprising to you?"

"Not really." Finn didn't recognize anything on his plate, but he figured it was all bound to be good. He poked at a rounded brown thing before popping it into his mouth. It tasted... herby. Finn ate a few more as Kurt began explaining the meal. He understood about every third word out of his brother's mouth but hadn't exactly expected to do any better.

It took maybe a minute for Finn to finish the rest of his meal. There was little else to do, so he sat and listened to his mom and Kurt talk about food. When Kurt had finished, he rinsed his plate and went back to his room. Finn washed the calphalon pots and pans that couldn't go in the dishwasher before going to the living room. Burt and Carol were watching a movie, so the jock just grabbed his backpack and went to work on his homework in the dining room, already dreading having to figure out how logarithms were supposed to work. At least his class got the simpler ones. When Artie had shown Finn what the AP class was doing, his brain exploded a little.

About half an hour and two problems into his math work later, Kurt's voice interrupted him. "Hey, Finn. What's this one?" The countertenor held up the quiz.

"We had a pop quiz today. You're supposed to pretend you don't have your stuff right there like it's a real quiz or something. It was dumb. You should be fine." He smiled and hoped it looked encouraging.

Kurt shrugged and went back downstairs.

After a couple hours, Finn decided he'd done about as much math as his brain could handle and went to warm some milk for Kurt. He didn't know exactly why Kurt loved warm milk so much, but it didn't matter so much because at least it sort of made him happy. Kurt usually smiled while he drank his milk.

"What do you want now?" Kurt snapped when Finn came down the stairs into the basement.

"Dude, chill. Just bringing you a drink."

Kurt shook his head and almost-smiled. "Sorry, Finn. Thanks for the milk." Once he took a drink, Kurt actually smiled. "It's delicious."

Finn grinned.

He sat on the edge of Kurt's bed and motioned to the papers scattered everywhere. "What's all this?"

Kurt groaned and rolled onto his back without spilling any milk. "Notes for that stupid personal essay whatshisname the dumbass English teacher with the bucktooth assigned. I'm trying to figure out how to write something that isn't rated NC-17 and overflowing with the word fuck."

"I could probably just get you out of that one if you want," Finn offered.

"Oh, yes, I do _so_ want. Just tell him I started trying to outline it and flipped my shit. I've been rocking in a corner muttering about my own mental state for days. Tell him I haven't even changed my clothes in that time, and I'm wearing _a t-shirt and bunny slippers._ That should make it more convincing." Finn couldn't quite read his brother's expression. It was somewhere between amused and bitchy.

"I don't think he'd get what that means. I'll tell him you're wearing a meat dress instead."

"I hear it's a jerky dress now."

"What?"

"Never mind, Finn. I'm tired, so I think I'll just go to bed now."

Finn nodded. "Okay, I'll see you in the morning." He smiled and took Kurt's empty glass upstairs to load into the dishwasher.

Burt and Carol had left the living room, so Finn pulled his bedding out of the coat closet and set it out on the couch. He turned out all the lights and settled down to sleep, reminding himself to talk to Kurt's English teacher about the essay at school the next day. It wouldn't be hard to convince the guy that personal something-specing or whatever would be painful for someone who had been through what Kurt had. That's what psychiatrists were for, not essays. Finn fell asleep hoping he'd manage not to wake up until morning but still doubting it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That word is "introspection," btw.
> 
> I finally understand why RIB does such a poor job of highlighting all the characters of Glee. Ensemble casts are ridiculous. That's why. T_T So just because you haven't directly seen anything doesn't mean it can't have been happening all along. And don't let mopey!Finn convince you Burt isn't doing everything he can to help Kurt either.


	45. Kurt: It's Okay to be Scared

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys, guys, there's a song in this chapter! The last time that happened was ch.36. This one is "Name" by the Goo Goo Dolls. Croatan (on ffnet) suggested it to me, and it was perfect. I bought it from iTunes and kept stopping to sing along instead of writing. Thank you, Croatan!

Kurt had noticed that his father came home from work early or went in late more than should have been okay, strictly speaking. Either way, he always drove home to spend his lunch break with Kurt too.

"You're not eating your, uh…" Burt waved his hand to indicate Kurt's hardly-touched meal.

"I've told you three times it's called tarator." Kurt sighed.

"Well, whatever you just said it is, you should be eating it because it's damn good." Burt had already finished his own bowl of tarator. Honestly, Kurt had no idea if Burt actually liked it or just said he did because Kurt had made it.

When he thought about it, the countertenor missed cooking things his father couldn't pronounce the name of. Carol had been doing most of the cooking since between the two of them, Burt and Finn could make grilled cheese and chili dogs. Kurt thought maybe he should start cooking more often, but there were usually just so many people upstairs… Even if he did go up occasionally, usually with Puck, Kurt felt safer down in his basement. It didn't get so crowded.

"Kurt, there's something I've been meaning to ask you about, but it never seemed like you were… ready I guess." Burt tried to dab lightly at his mouth the way Kurt had shown him but came off looking silly rather than naturally dignified.

"What?"

"Well, you know Finn's been sleeping on the couch for a while now, and I think it's getting to him. I saw him talking back to the TV the other day. About fish sticks." Burt chuckled, but then his face grew serious. "I'd like to have someplace where everyone can have their own room, and maybe a larger living room so all your friends actually fit in it."

"Oh."

"We won't move if you say no. I'm not about to make you do anything you're not ready for." Burt laid a strong hand on his son's shoulder and squeezed just enough to say something like 'I'm here for you.'

Kurt shrugged away from the hand and covered it up by shoveling tarator into his mouth. He avoided looking at his father.

"You just take your time and answer me when you've had a chance to think about it."

Kurt nodded. "You should get back to work before someone takes over your job."

It took a moment for Burt to respond. "I'll see you later, kid." He hugged Kurt lightly before grabbing his jacket and leaving.

Kurt dumped his tarator down the drain and went to his room. It was quiet. No one would be home for a few hours yet. Honestly, Kurt was just glad everyone felt okay leaving him home alone now. He was getting sick of always having people around, and the days Burt or Carol had taken him to work with them had been even worse.

With all the time Kurt spent in his room, Kurt had gotten damn good at doing nothing. He lay back on his bed with his arms around his head and stared at the ceiling. It was much the same as how he spent any other day, but today he felt antsy. He wanted to move. He wanted to run and dance but didn't want to leave the house. Well, he had a large bedroom. He would just have to take advantage of it.

He dug through his closet for some good dance music and loaded up his CD player with the volume up all the way. Dancing came easily enough still. Kurt had almost worried it wouldn't. He hadn't danced in so long. This was... good. It was even a little fun. He wasn't used to having fun.

Oh, wonderful, and now he was depressed. And that made him angry. Kurt stopped dancing. He wanted to punch something. Or slash it. Instead, he started working on some of the exercises Kitty had shown him sometime before he murdered her. They weren't fun because they weren't like dancing. But they were strangely relaxing. Kurt let everything fall from his thoughts and focused only on his movements.

When he finally stopped, panting for breath and covered in sweat, Kurt decided maybe this was something he should do more often. It was... nice. Mostly because it was empty, and everything else in his life just seemed so full, whether of good or bad. He left the music blaring and went to shower.

Now when Kurt showered, he always had the luxury of letting the water warm before he got in. He had a soft shower puff and six different body washes. He chose one that smelled like roses. It was actually called 'Overgrown Archway,' but it smelled exactly like roses. When Kurt stepped out of the shower, he grabbed a fresh towel and wrapped it around his waist after rolling his eyes at himself for leaving his robe in his bedroom downstairs. Not like anyone else was home anyway.

He hummed absently while making his way to his room. It felt weird to have his skin bare. He was so used to keeping every inch of it covered now. Then, almost before he realized he had heard a sound, Kurt tensed and spun to face it.

"Kurt . I forgot my... um..."

It was Burt. His dad. His dad was here. His dad could _see his scars._ Kurt yelped and dashed back to the restroom. He locked the door behind him and collapsed against it. He wished he believed in God so he could pray that he had just imagined Burt there.

A knock came on the door. "Kurt, are you okay in there?"

"Go away!" He swallowed a sob. Fuck, why was he crying?

"It's okay, son. It's okay." His voice trembled. Kurt thought it shouldn't have. Burt was steady. His voice wasn't supposed to tremble.

Kurt was shaking. "Go away! Go away! Go away!" This time he shrieked it at the top of his lungs again and again until his throat was raw.

Burt stayed. The countertenor heard him press his back against the door so he was sitting almost back-to-back with his son. "I'm not just saying that, Kurt. It's okay. I mean it. You don't have to hide from me."

Kurt stared at his hands and whispered, "I have to hide from everyone."

"I am so sorry I haven't done enough to make you feel right being open with me. But you can, Kurt. It's okay. And anything you'd rather I didn't know, you know you have Carol and Finn and that crazy Puck kid and all your other friends. Maybe if you really have to hide, you can just hide in pieces. Share different parts of yourself with different people, and maybe it won't all be stuck inside just festering until it hurts too much to even feel it anymore."

Kurt would have interrupted, but sobs choked him and tears blinded him until all he could do was listen to his father's voice through the door. For a long time after Burt stopped speaking, they remained silent except for the little gasping and hiccupping sounds that wouldn't stay put in Kurt's throat. Finally, he said "I'm scared, Dad," in a voice so soft he doubted it would carry through the door.

"I know. I am too. It's okay to be scared."

Before he could argue himself out of it, Kurt opened the door and scooted through to lean against his father, still wearing the towel. Burt didn't say anything more, just put his arms around Kurt and held him close. Eventually they moved. Eventually Kurt went downstairs to get dressed, carefully covering his skin, hiding his scars once more. Burt didn't go back to work that day.

Later, after dinner and after Finn had ushered the evening's visitors out, Finn brought down his guitar along with Kurt's milk. "Your dad told me you had kind of a rough day. Don't worry though," he held up his hands, "He didn't tell me any more than that except to tell me he wouldn't tell me any more than that."

"I think you're giving me a headache, but continue." Kurt arched an eyebrow at his brother and wondered just how much Burt was reading into what had happened earlier. He wondered how much he read into it too. And how much he should.

"I just thought I'd sing to you. You know, to make you feel better." Finn put on the cute little smile that always meant he was trying to please someone.

Kurt nodded. "Sing away then." Come to think of it, he wasn't sure he had heard Finn sing at all since returning home.

Finn grinned widely and started playing the opening notes on his guitar.

_And even though the moment passed me by  
I still can't turn away  
'Cause all the dreams you never thought you'd lose  
Got tossed along the way  
And letters that you never meant to send  
Get lost or thrown away  
_

He had expected something more... cheerfully inspiring from Finn. He had expected a feel better song. This felt like understanding. It suited Finn's voice and was beautiful in an unpolished, natural kind of way.

_Scars are souvenirs you never lose  
The past is never far  
Did you lose yourself somewhere out there  
Did you get to be a star  
And don't it make you sad to know that life  
Is more than who we are  
_

Kurt set his drink on the nightstand and curled his legs up to his chest. He wondered why Finn was singing to him. Finn hadn't even been around for Kurt's freak out earlier. He'd been in history or something, sitting in a shitty plastic desk in an ugly classroom and dreaming of better things in more exciting places. He hadn't even been there with Kurt.

But Kurt knew Finn didn't need to be. The countertenor had found that most people wanted to fix the hurt they saw in him. Finn wanted to fix _every_ hurt he could, even the ones he made. And usually he only made things worse because he had no idea how to fix anything, but not so now. This was actually kind of perfect.

_You grew up way too fast  
And now there's nothing to believe  
And reruns all become our history  
A tired song keeps playing on a tired radio  
And I won't tell no one your name  
And I won't tell 'em your name_

_I won't tell 'em your name  
_

Tears had formed in the corners of his eyes, and Kurt knew they would fall before Finn finished. But he couldn't blink them away because his brother looked him straight in the eye without any sign of flinching or tuning away. No one looked him in the eye anymore. No one wanted to see the pain there.

_I think about you all the time  
But I don't need the same  
It's lonely where you are come back down  
And I won't tell 'em your name_

For once, Kurt didn't care that he was crying because for once it didn't hurt. Even before Finn moved onto his bed and put his arms around Kurt, he knew this was the closest he had ever felt to the other boy. This must have been what it felt like to be brothers.


	46. Burt: The Only Thing

It had been a while since Burt actually stayed for a full day's worth of work. Today Finn and Puck had promised to spend the day with Kurt. Knowing the boys were there for his son made focusing on work easier because Burt had come to trust both of them with so much more than his own life. He trusted them with his son.

Burt pulled into the driveway, then paused before climbing out onto the cement. He loved Kurt with all his heart and more; he couldn't even imagine loving Kurt less. But he needed a moment each day when he came home to face the memory of the boy's scars. Kurt looked like he had played punching bag for a basket of knives. Some of the scars were light, delicate things winding trails over the boy's skin. Others were dark and heavy, the ruined skin weighing his Kurt down. Every day Burt wished he could maul the monster that did that to his son. And every day Burt remembered the deeper scars were inside his boy, not outside, because Kurt already had. He knew why Kurt tried to hide them, and couldn't help but think that Kurt wasn't really wrong.

Once he composed himself, Burt entered the house. Finn and Puck were finishing what looked like grilled cheese sandwiches. Kurt had half of one on his plate but looked like he meant to ignore rather than eat it.

"Hey boys," Burt said as he hung up his coat.

The jocks smiled and greeted him, but Kurt hesitated. "Um, Dad. About what you asked me about the other day... I think it'd be okay." He pulled at his arm warmers and stared at his plate.

"Are you sure? It's been less than a week." He kept his eyes on his son. Once Kurt glanced up, Burt made sure to hold his gaze. "I don't want to rush this if you aren't ready."

After a deep breath, Kurt answered, "Yeah. We need to anyway, right? And I'm tired of constantly listening to people stomping around upstairs."

The last part sounded like bravado, but Burt nodded. "Do you want to help look, or would you rather wait to just give final approval."

"The latter. I am not trouncing about into house after house with some realtor who will probably spend the whole time giving me the stink eye when you and Carol aren't looking." He arched an eyebrow and crossed his arms over his chest. It made him look like the old Kurt—but, no, Burt wasn't supposed to think like that, was he? There was Kurt, no old, new, or changed about it. All that mattered was that he had Kurt.

"Wait, does this mean we're moving?" Finn looked excited, and Burt didn't blame the kid. He obviously needed his own space but had kept quiet about it for Kurt's sake.

"Yup. What about you, son? Want to look at houses with us?"

"I'm not really all that very picky, so... probably not." He smiled sheepishly.

Burt chuckled. "I'd get out of it too if I could, but I think Carol'd thunk me on the head for trying."

"You gonna eat that?" Puck pointed to Kurt's half-sandwich. Instead of answering, Kurt just handed it over. "Thanks!" Puck shoved the whole thing in his mouth.

Burt remembered being young. From what he remembered, it was his job now to tell Puck how he was supposed to eat sandwiches. It didn't seem worth it. Not compared to the part of him that noticed Kurt handing his food over or throwing it out more and more. The boy didn't seem to be losing any weight, but he also had not gained back what he lost while Banks held him captive. After Janice told him antidepressants sometimes contributed to weight gain, Burt had almost hoped it would happen because Kurt was just so thin. The boy had always been slender, but Burt still worried his son was now underweight. He made a mental note to talk it over with Carol later.

"Hey, Mr. Hummel?" Puck interrupted Burt's thoughts.

"With all you've done for my son, I think you're okay to call me Burt."

"Um, Burt, then. We were thinking: Kurt almost never leaves the house. Do you think it'd be cool if the three of us went for a walk?"

Kurt rolled his eyes.

Finn added, "We won't go too far, and it'd be good to know he's okay going out if we're gonna be moving."

"Why wouldn't I be?" Kurt sent a pointed glare toward his brother.

Burt thought for a moment and decided he already trusted these boys, and they had a point. "Yeah, I think that's a good idea. Fresh air might do you some good, Kurt." He smiled, hoping it looked encouraging.

"It's like you're all conspiring against me. Fine then. Just let me put on something I won't freeze in." The way Kurt went back to his room could only have been a strut. When he thought about it, Burt honestly had no idea if Kurt wanted to go out or not.

"Just make sure you're all back for dinner. You staying tonight, Puck?"

The teen nodded. "If it's okay."

"'Course it is."

Kurt returned wearing what looked like the men's version of ruby red slippers and his fancy black jacket. Burt hadn't figured out yet why the clothes Kurt had come back home with made him uncomfortable. It might have been something about the way Kurt wore them, but the mechanic had yet to put his finger on it.

"You boys be careful now." He waved them out the door and decided to take care of some of the bookkeeping he'd been neglecting recently while he waited for Carol to get off work.

Even after seeing Kurt well enough to leave the house for a walk with his friends, Burt found it hard to concentrate. No one at the shop blamed him, but Burt could tell they needed him back on his game. It would help Kurt too to have a father around who could focus and take care of all the things the boy couldn't. But as much as Burt wanted to hold his son and make everything better, Kurt had always been the stronger of the two. Still, Burt managed to get some work done before he heard Carol came in.

"Hey, hun," she said, "It might help if you used more than just the tiny lamp for light." She clicked on the overhead light and bent down to plant a kiss on Burt's cheek.

"There was more sunlight when I started." He pulled her back down for a proper kiss, but rubbed his nose against hers first before bringing their lips together. "I spoke to Kurt earlier. He said he wants to move."

"Is he sure?"

"Of course he thinks he's sure, but I'm not. So I figure we take our time looking around. Bring him to see our final choices. And then ask him again if he feels up to it."

Carol nodded and rubbed her man's shoulders. "He won't get used to the idea unless he sees houses though, so maybe we fake him out? It feels like a dirty trick, but I think taking him out to more places and making him look at them as home might help him realize if he's ready or not. Speaking of, it's quiet in here. Where is everyone?"

"Finn and Puck took Kurt out for a walk. They should be back soon."

She nodded. "Take-out okay for dinner? I'm exhausted, and I've been craving something from that Thai place for a week."

"Go for it. There's something else I wanted to talk about..." Burt knew he shouldn't feel strange talking about his son's problems to the woman he knew would someday be his wife—he hadn't even made plans to propose but thought he might once Kurt was happy again—but it was still awkward. He was used to being the only one there for Kurt. Sharing the responsibility was less stressful, but he sometimes felt like he didn't want to share his son with anyone. Kurt was his baby boy, and the only person with more right to him than Burt had been gone for years now.

"About Kurt?" Carol asked, taking a seat. She leaned forward and set her elbows on her knees.

Burt nodded. "He hasn't been eating well. I'm... I'm just so worried about him." He ran a hand over his eyes.

"I noticed too. I thought he'd start eating more once he started cooking again because I know some of what I make, especially my neighborhood-famous bean dip, just doesn't meet his health standards."

"He hasn't though."

Carol sighed and shook her head. "No, he hasn't."

"I just wish I knew what to do. All I want is for him to be happy." Burt buried his face in his hands. He knew Kurt needed to eat more, but he didn't know how to make that happen. He knew Kurt needed to work with his psychiatrist, but he didn't know how to convince his son of that. He knew he loved Kurt, and that was about the only thing he knew how to handle anymore.


	47. Kurt: Seem to Care

"I don't want to have 'fun.' I want to reorganize my closet by color." Kurt crossed his arms, staring Mercedes down. Or trying to.

"Boy, your closet is flawless. And you can do that anytime. Come shopping with me. I promise you won't regret it." Mercedes smiled at him, and he knew he was supposed to give in.

But Kurt remembered the last time they went to the mall. "Are you kidding? I tried to arrange it by season. It's ridiculous. How and I supposed to match my outfits if all I know is that I might have designated what I need as a summer, but it turns out it's spring."

She crossed her arms and stared levelly with an eyebrow quirked. The diva didn't need to say 'Bitch please' for Kurt to hear it.

Kurt didn't want to deal with Mercedes, strangers, or even shopping. Janice had gotten sick of him or something and sent him to some therapist in Westerville. He'd spent four hours round trip in the car for only fifty fucking minutes in Dr. Keynes' office. He didn't want to 'get to know' or 'feel comfortable with' her. He wanted to stay home and never talk to anyone except maybe his family and Puck ever again.

He knew Janice resisted sending him to a specialist because of the distance. He knew she was just doing her job, and he was being too hard on her. He even knew that Mercedes only wanted to have fun and be friends with him again; she had waited long enough. He knew, but he just couldn't seem to care.

"Look, do you really want Finn and your dad bemoaning over how you can't leave the house again? Because you know they have been, and you know they will. And you know I mean business 'cause I used the word 'bemoaning.' Now come. The mall calls you. I'll even buy you a new cardigan."

Kurt rolled his eyes, but she was right. Every day he refused to leave the house with someone, Finn and Burt gave him the worried eyes. Sometimes they gave him a worried pat on the shoulder or a worried talk too. They meant well enough, but that made it no less annoying.

"Fine," he hissed. "But if I say we leave, we leave."

Mercedes nodded. "You know I just want to take you out, not to scar you for life. Now get fancied up. I'll wait upstairs."

"Don't bother." Kurt pulled on his red shoes and black coat. He'd already been wearing black skinny jeans and his mustache t-shirt. As they left the room, he grabbed a red scarf from off his chair and wrapped it loosely around his neck.

Upstairs, Mercedes tried to give Burt a thumbs-up without Kurt noticing. The mechanic responded with a wink he probably also intended to slip by Kurt. The countertenor rolled his eyes again, but the others seemed not to notice. Then they were out the door and on their way to the mall for a day of shopping.

Kurt hated the mall. He wondered why he had ever looked forward to spending a day in the wretched place. There were too many people. Everyone made too much noise. The restrooms were disgusting. The food court smelled nauseating. Everything cost too much. Everything was dirty. The shops blared shitty music. It stank. There were too many people. When he thought back to his last visit to the mall, Kurt knew he was doing 'well.' He'd run home crying last time. Well, he could stand the crowds. He just fucking hated them.

They sat in the food court, snacking on some fries and giving their feet a rest. Kurt was still breaking in the shoes Todd had given him. He shouldn't have worn them today; his feet felt like shit. He would probably have blisters. He rubbed at his heels through his argyle socks and told himself no one was staring. They couldn't see the scars; they had no reason to stare.

But he noticed a group of guys wearing McKinley lettermans standing by the Hot Dog On a Stick. One of them kept glancing over at Kurt and Mercedes, though he tried to hide it. Poorly. Or maybe Kurt noticed because he was watching for people watching him. The guy glanced over again but turned away as soon as he noticed Kurt was looking. The countertenor still had time enough to recognize him. Dave Karofsky. The last thing Kurt wanted was to deal with any of the high school Neanderthals. Something told him it'd be inadvisable to pull a knife on a bunch of bullies in the middle of a mall. Kurt settled for sliding a hand into his pocket to feel the warmed metal. Then he ushered Mercedes away from the food court by suggesting they visit a shoe store that had only recently opened.

Sitting in a cramped shop while Mercedes paraded around in a pair of gold pumps shouldn't have been so uncomfortable. It should have been easy. Kurt remembered a time when it was even fun. He had changed since then. He had learned to hate since then.

Kurt told Mercedes the shoes were fabulous even though he cared almost as much as he did about what brand of toothpaste Finn used. All he wanted was to go home now. He was sick of the mall; he was sick of the people. Since his time with Robin, Kurt had found people even less palatable than when he merely critiqued their fashion and lack of appreciation for Broadway. They were all either fools or jackasses. Most of Kurt's friends were fools. Most of the strangers at the mall were jackasses. Kurt didn't want to be either. No one would say it, but everyone wanted Kurt to be normal again. Well, Kurt had seen normal. The only thing worse would be living as Robbie's pet for the rest of his life.

"Come on, I want an Orange Julius before we go!" Mercedes smiled and pulled Kurt back toward the food court.

"You realize we'll be eating dinner almost as soon as we get back to my house."

Mercedes rolled her eyes playfully. "Well, this is more like a drink anyway. You want one?"

"No. I want to leave."

"Well I want one, but I can finish it in the car." She put a hand on her hip, shopping bags hanging from her wrist. "That work for you?"

"Fine. Just hurry," he snapped at her, but Mercedes ignored it and walked back toward the food court. Kurt hoped the jocks had left while Mercedes looked at shoes. They hadn't. Kurt was disappointed but not surprised.

One of them—Kurt thought it was Strando—noticed the countertenor and nudged Karofsky's arm. The right guard sneered at Kurt and stalked from the food court like he'd smelled something gross. The other jocks followed, laughing and making jokes that would probably offend Kurt if he were close enough to hear. At least they left.

Mercedes got her snack, and they left. She tried to say the trip "wasn't so bad," but Kurt cut her off and sprinted the rest of the way to the car. He sat on the hood waiting for her because Mercedes had the keys. This was stupid. He shouldn't have come. He hadn't wanted to come.

But he sort of had. Some part of Kurt had wondered if he could take it. Sure, he had lived in New York, gone to coffee shops, and even performed on stage since killing Rob. But he'd done all that while he called himself Alex. After the way he collapsed into a crying lump in his father's arms, Kurt had wondered if being _Kurt_ somehow made him weaker than Alex. He had wondered if he would flee the mall in tears again.

"You know, you can just say so if you don't want people to talk about something. You don't have to run away." Mercedes joined him on the hood rather than getting into the car.

"Shut up. Let's just leave."

She shook her head. "In a moment. I just want to tell you that I don't know what I can and can't say, and I'm sick of being too scared to talk to my best friend. So I'ma say what I want, and you tell me when to shut my mouth. Got it?"

"Or you could just not say anything stupid."

"I'd rather not live in fear of saying something stupid any more. Friends should talk, and I've been too scared to." She offered him some of her treat.

Kurt hesitated. He accepted the snack even though he knew it was too sweet.

"And while we're talking, you did not have some key parts of that outfit before you came back with Puck." She eyed his coat and shoes.

"I had them before that, just not before Robin took me away."

"Where are they from?"

"Where do you think?"

But she couldn't say it. Kurt watched her mouth work, but she never built up the nerve to accuse him of wearing gifts from Robin.

He hopped off the car. "Come on. I'm cold."

Mercedes unlocked the doors and climbed into the driver's seat. "I know I'm a gossip, Kurt. But I know when to keep my mouth shut too. If you need a little girl talk, just let me know. Because I guarantee Puck and Finn would be lost."

Kurt nodded even though he hadn't wanted a 'girl talk' in a long time. He hadn't wanted any type of talk, to be honest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is a bonus chapter called Dave: Dumbass Tears with events running parallel to the Suddenly Karofsky of this chapter. Only there's much less suddenly since Karofsky is always around himself... Also, remember Dave never kissed Kurt in this timeline, so no one knows he's gay.


	48. Quinn: Not Just His

"I actually feel really stupid right now, coming to tell you this." To be honest, Quinn felt more like a massive bitch, but she saw no reason to tell Kurt that.

"Tell me what?" Kurt asked without looking up from the homework he didn't appear to be doing more than staring intently at. "Did I give you a funny look or something? Because that's just how I look at everyone."

Quinn sighed. Kurt _had_ given her a lot of weird antagonistic looks, but that wasn't what this was about. That may have been a symptom of what this was about, but no more. "It's about Puck."

"Oh."

"I know you haven't, well, _tried_ anything, but it's obvious with the way you watch him and get so close to him…" She sounded like the world's worst jealous girlfriend right now. Quinn managed to hold in her exasperated sigh because Kurt might misinterpret it as intended for him.

"I won't try anything." He scowled at his homework. He still refused to go to school, but at least Kurt had started trying to do some of the work Finn brought home for him.

"I know. I just… okay, I don't know. I think I came here to make sure you don't try anything, even though I know you won't. You already would have if you were going to, right?" Quinn sat down on Kurt's computer chair and tried not to think that it might be kind of hot if Kurt did try something because that was inappropriate on a level she did not even want to admit to.

For a few moments, Kurt stared at her, frowning to himself. The cheerio suspected he was trying to decide on something. She just hoped it was something she would be okay with once he spoke again.

"I, um, _have_ tried something already, Quinn. Before I… changed my name back. I know Puck's not interested. I know he never will be. So I won't try anything else." He didn't look her in the eye, though he glared at his homework long enough Quinn would not have been surprised to see it burst into flames. She didn't blame him for looking away.

Quinn felt her hands ball into fists even though she knew she wouldn't actually hit Kurt even if she knew how to punch. "You what? Kurt, what did you do?" It couldn't have been much or Puck would likely have stopped spending so much time with Kurt. He had never been all that comfortable in his own skin when it came to sexuality; he'd just learned to fake like he was. Quinn had noticed Puck was doing a lot better in that regard after Kurt came back, probably because he had finally become close friends with a gay guy. But having Kurt actually hit on him would ruin that, wouldn't it?

Kurt chuckled and sneered. Quinn felt like they shouldn't have worked together as well as they did. "What didn't I do? I mean, Puck knew I was messing with him, trying to make him admit that I was too fucked up to really be me anymore, but still…"

"Did you kiss him?"

"No. I wasn't interested in kissing him. I thought I was just messing with him too. I… I didn't realize it was more until after. But it doesn't matter. I won't do anything."

"Then what did you do?" Quinn knew she should drop it for the countertenor's sake, but she couldn't. Something told her to worry, for Puck, not Kurt.

The boy didn't answer. He chewed on the end of his pencil, staring at the paper in front of him even though Quinn doubted he saw anything on it just then.

"Kurt, please. Puck doesn't want to admit it, but he's still having trouble too. He thinks his problems are so small compared to yours that he should just ignore him. I'm trying to help, but there's not much I can do without knowing what is wrong."

"I don't—"

"Please."

He paused, but this time Kurt looked at the cheerleader instead of his homework. Then he swung his eyes away. "I tied him to the bed and pulled his pants off." His voice was a deep, dark growl unlike anything Quinn had heard come from him before.

"You _what?"_ Before she knew it, Quinn was standing and ready to bitch slap Kurt so hard he forgot anything but making up to Puck all the pain neither of them had yet admitted to.

"I wanted to scare him. I told myself I had to do more, but I couldn't. I tried, Quinn. I fucking _tried."_ Quinn nearly felt herself falling into the deep pit of bitterness she heard in his voice then. It scared her almost as much as what he had done.

He tried. But he didn't say what he had tried. Quinn had a feeling she knew.

"Why…?" It came out breathlessly, almost as a whisper. Quinn worried that if she spoke any louder, all she would be able to do was scream.

"I convinced myself that if I could scare Puck into believing I wasn't me anymore, then I really wouldn't be. I explained it differently in my head at the time, but that was it." The countertenor pulled his knees against his chest and wrapped his arms around his legs. He didn't look Quinn in the eye.

"So you tried to rape him?" Her soul felt dirty, though the word had only passed through her mouth.

"Yes."

"And he's, what, okay with that?"

"He said he forgives me. It might be true; it might be to make a point." Kurt's nails dug into his sleeves so hard he could probably feel them stinging his arms through the fabric.

"I don't even know how to respond to that. You stabbed him. Then you almost raped him. And he still thinks you're the best thing since Starburst jelly beans."

Kurt rocked back and forth, still holding his knees to his chest and digging his nails into his arms. "I don't think he likes me quite that much."

"You're just about the only thing he talks about."

"That can't be true. When he's with me, you're the one he won't shut up about. Though it'd probably be weird if he talked to me about myself." Despite the attempt at humor, Kurt's voice didn't lighten in the least.

Quinn shook her head. "I have to go, Kurt. I… You said Puck forgave you, but I don't know if I can. I have to talk to him, okay?"

Kurt nodded. He didn't look surprised. Quinn left.

Puck had gone home because his mom needed his for something. He was supposed to come over to the Hummel-Hudson house after dinner, but Quinn had promised to be at her own house by then. She drove to Puck's and hoped his mom wouldn't mind too much.

When she arrived, Quinn found that Puck's mom wasn't even home. She'd had to help Puck's sister with something that the jock shrugged off and refused to comment on further. Before she had figured out how to say anything of what she knew she needed to, the cheerio found herself lying on Puck's bed, tucked comfortably against his side. She decided distance wouldn't help anyway and propped herself up on her elbow so she could look her boyfriend in the eye while she spoke.

"Puck, I… I've been trying to think of a more, I guess, diplomatic way of saying this, but all I can think is to come right out with it. Just please try not to freak out, okay?" She pressed her free hand against Puck's chest and tried to hold his eyes with hers.

He nodded.

"Kurt told me what happened. That he tried to…" She had already said the word to Kurt; why was it so hard to do the same with Puck? "To rape you."

"Oh." The jock shifted nervously, and Quinn felt his pulse pick up speed beneath her palm. "Well, he wasn't gonna do anything."

"He didn't in the end, but he told me he tried to. He was going to do it, planned on it, and only realized at the end that he couldn't."

Puck scowled. "Look, even if Kurt didn't, I knew he wouldn't do anything to me, okay? Besides, everything sounds worse when he tells it."

"How would you tell it?"

"He was just trying to scare me. That's all."

Quinn sighed. "He said he tied you up. Was that with your permission?"

"Well, no," Puck said.

"And he said he took your pants off."

"Well, yeah, but he didn't really _touch_ me or anything."

"Didn't 'really'? But what did he do?" Quinn felt like some sort of monster for forcing this on Puck, but if he never faced his own problems, he would just end up in a boat much like the one Kurt was in now.

"He talked a bit and felt up my chest and thigh. But that's _it._ Then he untied me and we went upstairs to sit and talk with everyone."

Oh, God, when Kurt said it happened before he returned to his real name, Quinn hadn't realized he meant something like _minutes_ before.

"Puck," she took a deep breath, "It's still assault. And even if no one blames Kurt, _you_ still have to face what happened and deal with it."

"I'm fine."

"No, you're not."

Puck rolled his eyes and sat up, but he took Quinn's hand in his. "Look, babe, shit happens, and it's not always awesome. Just because I'm not crying and having panic attacks doesn't mean I'm in denial. I'm allowed to be fine."

"But you _do_ have nightmares." The first time Quinn took a nap with Puck and woke up to find him trembling and whimpering in his sleep, she had gone to his mother. Mrs. Puckerman told her Puck had a problem with nightmares lately. Sometimes he even woke up screaming but always claimed not to remember a thing by morning.

"So I hear, but who says they have to be about Kurt?"

"I'm sure not all of them are." Quinn squeezed Puck's hand.

"Fuck, Quinn. No. I'm fine. I don't have to deal with it the same way you do for everything to be okay." He scowled but squeezed her hand back.

"I don't care how you deal with it, just so long as you actually do. Right now, all you're doing is ignoring everything."

"And what do you want me to do?" He pulled his hand away from Quinn's. "Leave my friend to deal with shit he can't handle on his own all alone just because some girl thinks I need to handle something too?"

"No. I want you to help Kurt, but I want you to let 'some girl' help _you_ too because you're clearly too stupid to help yourself." Puck wasn't in love with Kurt, wasn't even _interested_ in Kurt that way, but Quinn felt then like the countertenor would be the reason Puck eventually broke her heart. Even though the cheerio knew it was bitchy and stupid, she hated Kurt for it.

The jock clenched his jaw and swallowed visibly. "I still don't know what you want from me, Quinn."

"I just want you to talk to me and face what has happened to you. I want you to stop withdrawing from everyone but Kurt. We're all your friends too, not just his. And we're here for you."

Puck licked his lips and pulled his eyes away from Quinn's. "I'm not—I can't… You should go home. I'll call you later."

"Puck," Quinn reached a hand up to his cheek, but her boyfriend pulled away. No, he flinched back from her.

"We can talk later okay? Just not now, and… you don't want to be late for dinner, right?"

"I have two hours."

The way Puck blinked rapidly and clenched his jaw, Quinn could tell he was holding back tears. She had seen him like this only a few times.

"We don't have to talk," she added as she wrapped her arms around Puck and pulled him so he lay with his head in her lap. "Not yet."

Puck didn't cry, but he clutched his arms tightly around Quinn's waist and waited with her until she really did have to go. When he kissed her goodbye, Puck didn't look her in the eye. Quinn smiled and told herself not to cry in front of him.


	49. Kurt: Change

It had only been a week and a half. Kurt hadn't expected Burt and Carol to have a house for him to visit within only a week and a half. Hell, it hadn't even been long enough that Quinn spoke to him again after... after he admitted to her what he did to Puck. Time enough or not, Burt had just stopped the car in front of a two-story duplex. Fuck, but Kurt was _not_ living in a duplex.

"I hate it. Can we go?" He crossed his arms.

"Just look at it Kurt. I know it's not perfect, but it has a nice interior and a two-car garage." The boy's father got out of the car and opened Kurt's door. "Come on. Just look at it. You only get to veto if you've seen the whole house."

Kurt unbuckled his seatbelt and joined his father on the sidewalk. "It's not even a house. It's half of a house, and some strangers will be in the other half." Kurt didn't want to deal with neighbors. It'd only be worse if they had to share a building with someone. If Kurt had his way, he would live in the middle of nowhere where no one could reach him.

The place actually had nice carpet. It looked new. The kitchen might have been large enough to hold half of one of Finn's arms. The living room would fit the entire glee club plus a few others. All of the bedrooms were on the second floor and had atrocious paint jobs. He could hear music coming through the walls from the other side of the duplex. The garage was a thing of beauty. There were only one and a half restrooms.

"I've seen it. I still hate it. Let's go."

Most of the time, Kurt barely even wanted to live where he did now. He didn't want to know what fit of delusions had convinced Burt and Carol that he might want to live _here._ It wasn't the right house for them anyway, but there was more. There were _people_ here. He'd known their current neighbors for years and still avoided them. What was he supposed to do living around complete strangers? Listening to them whisper about how they saw him on the news. Watching them stare at the scar on his neck and jaw.

Kurt rubbed at the scar as he buckled his seatbelt. He could hide the others, but not this one. Even his scarves and high collars never reached quite far enough to cover it entirely. He'd had a scar on his neck for a long time, leftover from throat surgery when he was younger, but hardly anyone had ever noticed that one. It was small and light. Most days, Kurt didn't even think about or notice it. Not so with the new one. It was long, twisting, and dark. It stood out, screaming against his pale skin. He noticed it daily. People noticed it. It demanded their attention. It refused to let him hide.

He wanted to hide.

As Burt drove home, Kurt leaned his head against the glass, uncaring that it would mess up his hair. The Hummel-Hudsons already had a perfectly decent house. Why did they have to move? (Because the house was too small for all four of them.) And why would anyone bring him to a shitty duplex? (He'd seen them watching him but didn't want to admit to himself it was a test because he doubted he had passed.) Kurt didn't want to move. He wanted to stay. Enough had already changed, and he found himself clutching desperately at thoughts of a house that he knew Finn could stand only so much longer. Whose needs were more important then? His or Finn's?

But he didn't need it. He didn't need the bloodstain on the carpet or the hiding places for any sharp object he could get his hands on. He didn't need the sound of people stomping about upstairs when he had to run down to his room to escape the way everyone had to always _look_ at him. He didn't need the lock on the wrong side of his door. He didn't need the place where Finn had called him 'faggy' or the place where Kurt tried to rape the guy who had become his closest friend.

He just didn't want anything else to change. So much already had. So much had been forced on him. Kurt just wanted something that would be the same. Something that could never change. His house clearly wasn't it. His life wasn't it. Kurt wasn't it. Through the rest of the ride back to the house he clung to even though he'd just realized he hated it, Kurt tried not to think.


	50. Santana: You'll Find You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song: "What Your Soul Sings" by Massive Attack.

No one had gone to Kurt's today because his parents were taking him out to see some house. Well, Finn would be there, but he _lived at_ Kurt's place. The dopey jock already talked about Kurt like he was his brother. Their parents weren't even married, though Santana admitted that needed a 'yet.' If nothing had happened to Kurt, they'd probably have been married for months by this point.

Santana sighed and stretched, arching her back. Even though she _knew_ he wasn't getting any action with Quinn, Puck still refused to get anything on with Santana. He seemed intent on staying _monogamous._ Santana frowned at the word and rolled over to snuggle up to Brittany. She didn't need Puck anyway. He'd gotten damn close to touchy-feely spending too much time with Kurt and Quinn. It was gross.

Britt giggled softly as Santana pressed a series of light kisses to her neck. "Hey, Tana, is it true Kurt doesn't like lady kisses because he's gay?"

"Um, yeah, Britts. That's like the definition of gay dude."

"Poor guy. He's missing out." She cuddled up to the other girl and sighed contentedly. "I always feel better when I'm sharing sweet lady kisses with you."

"That's sweet, but I think boy kisses could cheer him up too." She brushed a strand of hair away from Brittany's eyes.

"But Kurt's not ready for a boyfriend. That's why I was thinking if one of us could help him feel better."

Santana smiled. Some people, herself included, sometimes described Brittany as stupid, but she was more innocent than anything else. And completely disinterested in anything taught in public schools. The blonde probably knew enough about cat diseases to outsmart any veterinarian, not that she realized Lord Tubbington would be less likely to get them if he ate a proper cat diet. Still there was some part of Brittany that was, if not smart, then wise. She understood how people felt even when she couldn't for the life of her grasp why. That was probably why Santana lo—liked her so much.

Besides, she was one of few people Tana ever felt _bad_ about being a bitch to. That definitely counted for something.

"We do make him feel better, Brittany. Just not with kisses."

"I think he ignores us. But Puck and Finn make him feel better." She smiled, but it looked too sad on her just then. "I just wish there was something I could do. Does Kurt like ponies?"

Santana sighed. "You can't get him a pony."

"But he's gonna move into a big house. Maybe they'll have a backyard with room for a pony." She sat up a little in her excitement, so Santana had to pull away.

"Kurt doesn't want a pony. Maybe you could draw him a pony instead?" She just hoped Britt didn't suggest a kitten because, honestly, Santana knew no argument could convince Brittany that anyone didn't desperately want and need a kitten.

The blonde's eyes fell. "Lord Tubbington kidnapped my crayons and hid them in his secret castle."

Santana quickly decided she didn't want to know. "I can buy you some new crayons, Britts."

The other girl's face lit up like a fucking Christmas tree. "Really? Can I have the ones with the sharpener in the box?"

Tana nodded. She sort of remembered crayon boxes like that, or thought she did. Whatever. She could take Brittany with her to make sure she got the right kind. And then the blond could shut up about ponies. She'd probably forget about anything but the crayons as soon as she and Santana left the house.

"So what are you getting him?" Britt took hold of Tana's hand, raising it to her lips to press a kiss against the knuckles.

"What?"

"For Kurt. I'll draw him a pony, so what are you getting him?" She ran her tongue along the other girl's finger, then pressed a chaste kiss to her fingertip before letting the hand fall back to the bed.

"I don't know." Santana couldn't exactly say she wasn't getting him anything even though that had been exactly her plan. That just wasn't how it worked with Brittany. Whataver, she'd think of something eventually.

"Well, what if they move today, and you don't have a house-warming gift ready? You'll feel pretty silly then, and I just want you to be on top of things." It completely amazed Santana how serious Brittany could be over a crayon drawing of a pony.

"In that case, we'd better get moving." She climbed off the bed and tossed Brittany her jeans. "Where should we go to get crayons?" She knew Kurt wouldn't be moving today even if the house turned out to be the right one. But Britt obviously didn't.

"Toys'R'Us!" The blonde clapped her hands excitedly.

Tana rolled her eyes. She's been to Toys'R'Us with Brittany before. It was dirty, gross, and filled with disgusting, screaming children. Instead of complaining, she just finished straightening her vest and said, "Toys'R'Us it is" with as close to a smile as she could muster. The things she did for her Britts.

The toy store was exactly as horrible as Santana had expected, except that Brittany bounced so cheerfully through the whole place that even Tana couldn't help but smile. Not even all the stupid and sticky kids around enjoyed the place as much as Brittany S. Pierce. At one point, Brittany disappeared only to show up again holding a large stuffed pony. Santana put her hands on her hips and gave a stern "No" before Britt could open her mouth to ask for it. The blonde sighed but put it back and led her friend to the coloring supplies where she picked out a box of crayons with ninety-six colors and a sharpener in the back. A sassy little flamer tried to fight her for it, but Brittany just handed him one from a higher shelf and skipped back to Santana.

"Great. Let's get out of here. I'm pretty sure those Barbie dolls are contagious." She ushered Brittany to the register, stopping only to get a pad of drawing paper for Britt to make her ponies on.

The creepy-looking woman at the register stared at the cheerleaders weird until Britt said "I'm making a present for my friend Kurt. He's not very happy right now but doesn't have room for a pony."

Then Santana gave the lady a death glare to make sure she said _nothing_ more to Brittany than "That's nice." She avoided looking at them at all after that.

As the girls climbed back into Santana's car, Brittany asked, "So what are you getting Kurt?"

Tana resisted rolling her eyes. "A song, of course."

"What will you sing him?" She dug through the bag and began looking at all the different color crayons.

"I was hoping you could help me with that." Tana shot a quick smile at the other girl but couldn't take her eyes off the road for long.

Brittany was strangely quiet for a while. Then she began to sing.

_Don't be afraid  
Open your mouth and say  
Say what your soul sings to you  
_

Santana didn't recognize the song. Her friend sang it slowly and more than a little eerily. Still, it sounded right. Not that she could place her finger on it after only three lines.

_Your mind can never change  
Unless you ask it to  
Lovingly re-arrange  
The thoughts that make you blue  
The things that bring you down  
Only do harm to you  
And so make your choice joy  
The joy belongs to you_

_And when you do_   
_You'll find the one you love is you_   
_You'll find you_   
_Love you_

Since he came back, Kurt hadn't taken much interest in anything overtly cheery, and maybe a song like this, a song telling him to be happy while sounding anything but, was the kind of song he needed to hear. Besides, Santana had decided she liked it.

_So no longer pretend  
That you can't feel it near  
That tickle on your hand  
That tingle in your ear  
Oh ask it anything  
Because it loves you dear  
It's your most precious king  
If only you could hear  
_

When Brittany finished singing, Santana gave her another smile, this one softer. "That's perfect, but I think I need you to sing it with me."

"Okay. Just don't tell Lord Tubbington. That's his favorite, and I'm not supposed to sing it to anyone else. I wouldn't except that Kurt's really special."

The dark-haired girl decided, again, not to ask. "We can go to my place and practice while you draw. And maybe later we can stop by Kurt's to give him his presents."

The blonde agreed cheerfully. Even though she was, well, naive if nothing else, Santana thought again that Brittany knew way more than anyone bogged down with _intellectualism_ ever could. And maybe it would turn out Kurt had needed something from his friends after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I actually made Brittany's drawing and posted it to tumblr in the "by any other name" tag.


	51. Kurt: Better By Now

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter only exists because my wonderful readers on ffnet were willing to share their own experiences with me. Thank you, wonderful readers.

"The drive up wasn't too bad, I hope?" Dr. Keynes motioned for Kurt to sit as she spoke. She knew exactly how far away he lived, but instead of suggesting he keep seeing Janice, Delilah Keynes tried to lure him into therapeutic bullshit with promises of fewer drives out to Westerville.

Kurt shrugged and sat facing his therapist, though he kept his eyes averted. She was older than Janice and had a severe look about her that she probably intended to come off as professional. She pulled her steel grey hair tightly into a bun most days. Today it was a slightly looser bun at the nape of her neck. And she stared. Her eyes never left Kurt unless she wanted to jot something down in her little notebook. It reminded Kurt of the time he'd gotten detention for cursing at Mr. Schue and had to sit through a teacher staring at him for an hour after school like he was about to commit some kind of felony if anyone so much as blinked. The countertenor shrugged again as Dr. Keynes watched him with her glasses too low on her nose and her head tilted slightly as if she'd never quite gotten used to her bifocals.

"Did your father bring you today?"

Kurt shook his head. "Someone inadvertently tried to blow up a carburetor at the shop, so Finn drove me." Most likely, Finn now sat in the waiting room trying to look like he belonged and like he didn't need therapy at the same time. So long as he didn't try to sing the nerves away, Kurt imagined his brother would be fine.

For a moment, the therapist paused like she was deciding whether to ask about the carburetor or the boy. Or maybe she was just trying to remember what Finn looked like because she asked, "Finn... he's the tall one with the crooked smile, right?"

"That's right." Kurt nodded.

"Is he helping with the house hunting?"

"Not really." Not that Kurt was helping overmuch either. He'd only been to the one house so far. When he'd asked his dad about it, Burt admitted he and Carol had no intention of living there. They just wanted to get Kurt out and looking to make sure he really wanted this. Kurt frowned at the memory. He didn't like being tested. Not even when he needed it.

"Does that bother you?"

"No. Why would it?"

"You're frowning." She pointed to his face with her pen as though that would help him see it.

"Oh. No. I was thinking about something else." When he noticed his hands fidgeting, Kurt stilled them, forcing them to rest on his lap.

"Anything you care to share?"

He shook his head and stopped his foot from tapping. Instead of asking something else, or commenting on the weather, which seemed to be her backup, Dr. Keynes stared at him. Kurt kept his eyes on the warm-hued carpet and licked his lips trying not to think of her eyes blaming him.

Finally, more to fill the silence than anything else, he admitted, "I just don't like people testing me like if they just said something to my face I'd shatter, so they have to trick me into it. Why would they think that?"

"Perhaps you seem unapproachable, Kurt. Many people are unsure of how to act around those who have endured experiences they have not." She pulled her eyes away from Kurt long enough to make a brief note.

"Well, why don't they just ask me how the hell they should act?" Scowling, Kurt crossed his arms, finally looking his therapist in the eye.

"What would you tell them if they did?"

What would he tell them? To fuck off, most likely. "I told Mercedes not to say anything stupid. She said that would just make her too afraid of saying something stupid to talk at all."

Dr. Keynes nodded. "What do you think would be stupid for her to say?"

"How the hell should I know?" He sat through the silence for a few minutes before speaking again. "When someone says I could be like I was before. That's stupid."

"But does that mean you have to be who you are now? Or who you were when you first returned home?"

"Are you just impersonating Socrates?" Kurt snapped. He wasn't one of Kurt's favorite philosophers.

"You know I can't make you answer questions, Kurt. I only ask them." Her expression didn't change.

"You still ask a fucking lot of them."

"How about this one: you do realize you're deflecting, don't you?" She wrote something down again.

"Well, I already tried not to be who I was only to find out the name didn't do jack shit, and I'm still fucked up."

She made a note. "You have been more open recently."

"You know what else can be open? Doors." And windows, eyes, mouths, pocketknives, and legs.

"What about your door then?"

"Closed." Except when Finn came down, he never remembered to shut it. Even Puck could shut a fucking door.

"Does that bother you? You look upset again."

Kurt shook his head but said no more, even when Dr. Keynes tried to wait him out.

"Kurt, do you believe that speaking with me can help you?"

She hadn't asked something like that before, and it caught him off guard. "Everyone says it's supposed to."

"But what do _you_ think?"

"I think if it were as easy as chitchat I'd be all 'better' by now." His voice came out bitter even though he'd aimed for cold and hard.

"Have you spoken about what happened with your friends?"

He hesitated. Nodded. "Puck."

"And how did Puck respond?" She wrote something down.

Kurt said nothing for a long time. He wrapped his arms around his torso and glared at the floor as though it were responsible for making him feel uncomfortable. "He said it wasn't my fault."

"And did you believe him?"

The countertenor risked a glance at her, found her watching him, as always. Did _she_ believe that? Did she care? Kurt shook his head. "I don't know."

She wrote something down.

Before Dr. Keynes could think of another question, Kurt asked, "Can I go home now?" He hadn't expected his voice to sound so small.

After a moment, she nodded. "Yes, Kurt. I'll see you next time."

Kurt left the room more slowly than he wanted and found Finn in the waiting room. He was holding a magazine upside-down with his head turned sideways to study it.

"Do I want to know?" Kurt asked, standing in front of his brother.

Finn turned the magazine around to reveal what looked like a Rorschach inkblot test. "When you hold it like this, it looks like an army of zombies chasing Godzilla while Steve from Blue's Clues laughs evilly."

"I'll take your word for it. Let's go."

As they rode home, Finn went on, much too cheerfully, about Godzilla's chances against an undead legion and the world's chances against Zombie Godzilla. Kurt tried not to smash his head open against the window, though from the way he talked, Finn might have welcomed the fresh brains. Kurt welcomed the silence of his bedroom two hours later.


	52. Puck: Why Are You Scared

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song: "Shadowbox" by Joe Stark. Couldn't find it on youtube, so I posted it to tumblr in the by any other name tag.

This was stupid. Puck shouldn't have had reason to avoid being alone with his own girlfriend. It was just every time he saw her, Quinn got this 'let's talk about your problems' glint in her eye that sent him running. He'd spent two Saturdays in a row hidden in Kurt's room more because Quinn avoided the place than because Kurt needed him around. And he was pretty sure by the weird looks he kept getting from the countertenor that Kurt could smell the fear on him. Puck should have known from the start it'd be wasted effort. Now it was Sunday, and Quinn had just come to Puck's house where he was pretty much guaranteed to be alone. Something told him he should have realized she could do that.

"I know you don't like talking about your feelings, Puck." She rubbed the palm of her hand against his knee as if somehow that would make him all better.

"Then why are you trying to make me?" He twitched his knee away but stayed where he sat beside her on his bed.

"Because about the time you refuse to admit you even have feelings is when you need to talk about them most. I already know what happened. It's not like you have to hide anything from me." She tried to look him in the eye, but Puck wouldn't let her.

"Well, I feel uncomfortable and annoyed. Maybe we should take care of that, huh?"

"You know that's not what I mean." Quinn had no right to sound so fucking patient. "When you talk about anything that has happened to you, you act like it's no big deal, like it's something you can just brush aside. But it's not, is it?"

Puck rubbed his palms against the comforter his mother had bought him when he came home even though he'd been spending her money on food for two weeks and tried not to think about much of anything. "Look, I can deal with any problems I _might_ have by helping Kurt. That's what I did last time."

"And absolutely _everything_ about what bothered you before is all better now, right?" Why did she have to say it like that? Like she knew something. Like she had a secret locked in a box, but it wasn't even her secret because it was Puck's.

"I..." Puck took a deep breath. "Of course."

"Don't lie to me Puck. Refuse to say anything if you need to, but don't lie to my face."

Oh, yes, because Quinn was so goddamn perfect she would never think to lie to anyone in the slightest, especially not about something important like who was the father of her child. Puck scoffed. _Like hell._ "Oh, so I'm allowed not to talk now?"

The cheerio sighed and ran the fingers of her left hand through her hair. "I'm only trying to help."

"Maybe you don't know how to help. Ever think of that?" He flinched at the bitterness of his own voice. It caught him by surprise.

"Did you think of that when you ran off to rescue Kurt? Why should you be allowed to help him if I'm not allowed to do anything for you?" Quinn's hand crossed the space between them to rest against Puck's arm.

The jock took his girlfriend's hand in his. "I just help myself better by doing things, not by trying to fit anything into words that usually don't work right anyway."

"Are you going to make me sing? Because you know I'll do it." Her lips quirked into a small smile for a moment as she spoke.

"Oh, now the temptress thinks she can use her musical wiles against me." He felt the corner of his mouth twitch into an answering smile. God, but he loved this girl, even when she made him want to run away tearing at his mohawk.

She stood. "Now that sounds like a challenge, Noah Puckerman." Quinn pulled a CD from her purse and set it playing. Puck didn't recognize the song.

_Hide behind your beauty_

_Hide behind your smile_

_Hide behind your innocence_

_Just like you were little a child_

The blonde flirted through the first verse, and Puck thought maybe this wasn't so bad. He loved hearing Quinn sing, but she usually lost solos to Rachel and Mercedes when it came to glee club. She sang it slow, but by the sound, Puck guessed it was a rock song. He wondered how much she had altered the melody to slow it only to decide it didn't matter because she sounded beautiful.

_You can't put a lock on your shadowbox_

_And hide it from the sun_

_You'll never get away from the dark inside_

_No matter how far you run_

_So let your shadows out into the sun_

As she moved into the chorus, Quinn became more serious. Honestly, Puck didn't know if he was ready for the kind of song that said he _had_ to tell because it simply wouldn't stay hidden forever _._ It'd be different if Quinn sang it for Kurt, but she didn't. Only she and Puck were here. Puck told himself not to start biting his lip like a little kid.

_So tell me all your secrets_

' _Till there's nothing left to hide_

_I'll listen if you let me_

_Until there's no tears left to cry_

Quinn finished the song with another repetition of the chorus, drawing out the last line until Puck was sure the sound of it would follow him to bed after Quinn went home. She sat beside him again, and Puck knew she expected something from him now. Some kind of response, though he couldn't say if she thought him more likely to tell her to leave or to spill all his feelings over her lap. In the end, it didn't matter. Puck crossed his arms over his chest and kept his eyes away from Quinn's because he couldn't tell what she might see in them.

She took hold of Puck's hand, lacing their fingers together. "I know it's not easy, but that doesn't make it any less worth the effort."

The jock let his eyes linger on their joined hands. He thought about telling everyone how he found Kurt because Meg believed he could help Kurt through example. Did Kurt believe it when Puck said nothing that had happened haunted him, or did Kurt look at him the way Quinn did? Did Kurt look at Puck and see only a tightly corked bottle of repressed feeling just waiting to explode and shoot shards of glass out in all directions? Did he use Puck's example now to justify locking everything away in place of healing? Or did Puck emulate Kurt's silence instead?

He shook his head to clear it of the too many thoughts rattling around inside. "I... maybe you were right." Not for the reason she thought.

the cheerio nodded, mistaking the comment for agreement. "I'm not saying we have to go through everything tonight, or even the most painful parts. A start is all I'm asking for right now."

Puck shook his head. "A start and a promise for more."

"I guess that too, yeah." She brought her free hand to Puck's cheek. "It's okay though, Puck." She smiled a little, probably meaning it for reassuring.

He didn't like doubting Quinn, but Puck couldn't seem to believe her. "How could you know that?" He left the rest unspoken, but Quinn must have heard it anyway.

"The same way you know you'll stand by Kurt no matter what... and no matter what he does." This time, her smile seemed more natural. "Please just trust me, Puck."

"It's not about trusting you or not." He _did_ trust Quinn. Or at least he couldn't think of a good reason not to.

The sound that came from her was like a sigh's angry cousin fathered by a growl and mothered by a squeal. "Then what are you so afraid of?"

Almost, he said 'Not you, Quinn,' but then she knew that. She just didn't know what else there could be. Puck nearly laughed at that because how could she not see? He stopped the sound at a snort. "Not you. Not Kurt. Then what's left?"

She squeezed his hand. "Is this why it was so hard for you? When Kurt was gone."

He nodded, still not saying what 'this' was.

"And now?"

He shrugged.

"Does Kurt know about it?"

"Why should he?" But Puck looked away. Kurt didn't know, not really, but maybe he knew enough to guess if he thought about it.

"You can tell me, Puck. Why are you scared?" She waited a while but spoke again when he gave no answer. "I'm pretty sure it's nothing you've done."

No. Nothing he'd ever done. Just something he thought about, dreamed about. Wanted. "It's wrong though," he muttered to himself.

Quinn mistook the words as meant for her. "Puck most of your personality is wrong in some way. I only recently realized that doesn't mean it can't be right."

Puck did laugh at that. Quinn was trying so fucking hard, and Puck just muttered nonsense under his breath and refused her. But he didn't want to talk about it. Didn't want to admit to it. Even just thinking about it made him feel dirty. Wrong.

He realized how annoying it must have been for Kurt that Puck refused to find anything wrong with him. He knew then that even if Quinn had reservations, or a serious case of freaking the hell out, she'd just tell Puck that it was okay and she accepted him completely. He knew because that was what he'd do for Kurt too. Hell, he'd already fucking done it. And so had she. Quinn had convinced herself Puck would break her heart and refused to let the idea go. But she stayed with him anyway.

"I first realized it just before Banks took him. It didn't seem like a big deal until... until I saw what the bastard did to people." He still remembered the feel of a mustard-stained necktie his mother would never let him wear tugging at his wrist where he'd tied it to the headboard. He remembered being annoyed that no one was there to tie the other one for him while he savored the restraint of the first. "He tied them up," he said aloud. "There was plenty else he did to them once he had them, but first he tied them up." He remembered the rough scratch of rope against his wrists as Kitty and Kurt tied him to the motel bed's headboard while Banks and his .45 watched. "I thought about how exciting it would be to give up my control to someone else." He remembered the silky-soft scarves against his wrist, holding him against Kurt's mattress. "But how sick is that knowing there are monsters out there who just fucking _take it?"_

It caught Puck by surprise when Quinn threw her arms around him. She pulled him in to rest his head against her boobs—though Puck guessed he was supposed to use 'bosom' for that. "Oh, Puck." Her heartbeat pulsed against his temple. Quinn must have lost her voice for a moment. Once she found it, the sound came out breathy and a little strained. "I don't think that's the same at all. Not even a little."

He wanted to agree because something told him it would feel amazing to believe that. Instead he let his head rest against Quinn's shirt and knew he was crying only because the fabric was wet. "But what if it is?" He remembered watching Kitty tie him up and, even if just a little, _wanting_ it. Quinn rocked him back and forth and ran her hand over his head and back, muttering soft sweet little things meant to help him feel better. "But what if it is?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lol, when I wrote this, I thought I was nearing the end.


	53. Kurt: Perfect Again

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song in this chapter: Linkin Park's "Forgotten."

Kurt frowned at the indignity of cramming his possessions into boxes like cardboard could carry his life and not just his things. He hardly so much as looked at this stuff anymore because it felt like someone else's. Like it all belonged to a glorified Kurt-being who everyone wished he could be even though Kurt knew better. Once a vase shattered, the cracks would always show even if you pieced it back together. He remembered part of a song that went something like "when the paper's crumpled up, it can't be perfect again."

These things had been Kurt's too long ago when being Kurt meant something different than it did now.

He held a tiara in his hands, turning it over to study its plastic curves for a moment before dropping it into the large black trash bag he'd brought down for the shit he saw no point in keeping. No one told him if they wanted to throw it all out, sell it, or keep it secretly in some cubby of the perfect new house Burt and Carol were supposedly 'this close' to finding. Kurt found he didn't care so long as he never saw any of it again. That tiara had been the last of his collection. He didn't want them anymore because he didn't want anything that ever made him feel like a princess. Just thinking the word made his mind feel dirty anymore because he always heard it in Robin's voice. Try as he might, the words to explain that wouldn't come. His friends and family let him trash his stuff anyway.

Kurt moved on from tiaras to the crayon drawing Brittany had given him not long ago. It was a fat pink pony labeled 'Pudgy McPonypants.' Not a bit of it matched his room, but even Kurt, asshole that he could be, didn't know how to tell Brittany that. Santana had given him a look that clearly told him not to even try. The girls had sung for him too, after making him promise not to tell the blonde's cat about it. Carol claimed they'd find a place for Pudgy McPonypants in the new house even though Kurt hadn't asked her to. She'd even gotten it matted and framed. Finn kept denying the way he'd giggled over that.

Kurt wrapped the drawing in old newspaper and placed it on one of the boxes. He wouldn't live throwing it out down even though he had no use for it. Even Kurt realized it was sweet. He could think of a time what felt like ages ago when Brittany had given him a crayon book report about heart attacks because everyone worried about his father. He hadn't kept it though, just looked through it, smiled sadly, and left it in the recycling.

The song was bothering him now. He could half remember bits of it. Something like a rhythm fit in his head, but he couldn't remember the words. Kurt knew enough to realize he couldn't remember because most of the song was rapped instead of sung, and rapping was not one of the countertenor's many talents. He thought maybe Finn would know if Kurt could just remember enough for a frame of reference. Only that one line stuck in his head: "when the papers crumpled up, it can't be perfect again."

Footsteps on the stairs warned him of someone coming down to his room. Kurt busied himself with sorting through the contents of his desk because he wanted just about anything more than he wanted to deal with someone trying to convince him the crap in the trash bags was important.

"As soon as I walk through the front door, your family starts asking me to carry things around, but no one can agree where any of it needs to go since there isn't a new house or a moving truck yet," Puck's voice passed behind Kurt, and the sound of a body dropping onto the bed punctuated it.

"Speaking of. Can you take that bag upstairs and fetch me a new one?" He motioned at the trash bag without lifting his eyes from his desk.

Puck groaned. "You're worse than they are, you know that?" But Kurt heard him stand and drag the bag out.

After he returned, Puck surprised Kurt by waving a new garbage bag in his face, though he kept it far enough back to keep Kurt from freaking the hell out and attacking him. Too bad. Kurt could have used an excuse not to leave his room or pack his things.

"Hey, Puck," Kurt called when the jock moved away.

"Oh, _now_ we're speaking?"

At that, Kurt actually looked up. Puck looked fine, but something about his eyes was... strained. He must have come down here to get away from the others, not to pester Kurt. "I can't remember a song."

"That's funny. I thought you knew every song ever."

Kurt arched an eyebrow. " _That's_ funny. I always thought that of the two of us, I would be the prissy one."

"Oh, drop it. I can't be in a good mood every fucking day." He rubbed his palms against his eyes. "What song."

Kurt shrugged and repeated the line.

Puck thought for a moment, sighed, sat up. "You want a title or for me to just belt it out?"

"Both if it won't kill you."

"It's Linkin Park. Song's called Forgotten, I think." He leaned forward with his palms against his knees for a moment like he meant to stand but settled back again without getting up.

_There's a place so dark you can't see the end  
Skies cock back and shock that which can't defend  
The rain then sends dripping / acidic questions  
Forcefully, the power of suggestion _

Kurt could tell immediately that Puck had the right song. The tiredness and that strained feeling fell off the moment Puck began, but Kurt knew that was a habit of performance, not the healing power of song. It would be back.

_Then with the eyes shut / looking thought the rust and rot  
And dust / a small spot of light floods the floor  
And pours over the rusted world of pretend  
The eyes ease open and its dark again  
_

While Puck continued, Kurt stored his pens, now organized by color and type, in a pen bag separated into sections, each held by a rubber band. He put his school work into the messenger bag he hardly used anymore though it'd once gone to school with him five days a week. Most of what that left on his desk was trash. He mashed it into the bag Puck had brought.

_From the top to the bottom  
Bottom to top I stop  
At the core I've forgotten  
In the middle of my thoughts  
Taken far from my safety  
The picture is there  
The memory won't escape me  
But why should I care_

_In the memory you'll find me  
Eyes burning up  
The darkness holding me tightly  
Until the sun rises up  
_

By this point, Puck had gotten into the song. It wasn't his usual genre, but he made it work. He stood, not to perform, just to pace. His arm jerked in rhythm with his voice during the rapping parts. Kurt stayed in his seat, watching, listening, and thinking very little except to wonder why Puck hadn't been among the first group to join glee club. Kurt knew the answer as well as anyone else, but he still wondered if it would have made a difference if Puck had seen things differently from the start.

_Moving all around / screaming of the ups and downs  
Pollution manifested in perpetual sound  
The wheels go round and the sunset creeps behind  
Street lamps, chain-link and concrete  
A little piece of paper with a picture drawn floats  
On down the street till the wind is gone  
The memory now is like the picture was then  
When the paper's crumpled up it can't be perfect again_

There was the line Kurt had remembered. It was actually simple, not terribly lyrical. Some deep part of Kurt thought it was beautiful. He had what he'd wanted now: a context for the lost line stuck in his thoughts. Kurt stood, and stopped Puck from finishing out whatever chorus repetitions remained of the song by grabbing his hand and leading him back to the bed. They sat, but Kurt had nothing to say. He let go of the other boy's hand.

Puck snatched it back before Kurt could pull it away into his lap though. "I never realized how fucking annoying I was."

Kurt let his friend know with a look that he was lost.

"When you tried to tell me how fucked up you are, and I just said you're, I don't know, a magical rainbow or a special little snowflake or whatever." He scowled.

A chuckle escaped before Kurt could stifle it. "Quinn finally cornered you then, did she?"

"She wants to help me understand my feelings and move on or heal or something so I can stop having nightmares. That bitch." He squeezed Kurt's hand.

This time, the countertenor let himself laugh. "I'm certain she's no worse than the absolute asshat who insists on hearing the most painful parts of my life story just to tell me I've interpreted them wrong."

"Asshat? Really?" He paused, and his lips quirked enough that Kurt knew the scowl was fake, or mostly fake, now. "Should you really be calling Dr. Keyenes that?" He smirked then.

"I don't mean her, and you know it." He punched Puck's arm playfully with his free hand.

"Oh, well, I just thought if you meant _me_ you could come up with a better name. Unless you've been talking more with Finn? He's kind of an asshat sometimes."

"Only if by asshat you mean awkwardly adorable. You should see him try to help me fold clothes." It was a sight equal parts hilarious and horrifying. Kurt planned never to let his brother near any important garments ever again. Emphasis on 'never' and 'ever.'

"See, I've never quite seen him as cute. Awkward he's got plenty of though."

"I suppose he's just not your type." Kurt winked, and almost smiled when Puck laughed at that. He didn't have a lot of chances to banter anymore. Mostly because he tended to feel more inclined to argue. This was... nice. He tried not to think that it was nice having Puck hold his hand too.

"But, dude, seriously I feel kinda sorry now. At the same time, I don't want to take it back, you know? Because you're a fucking moron, and I'm a goddamn genius. So obviously I was right even though it must have felt like some useless shit to you." He shrugged but kept his eyes on Kurt's.

"Just so long as you realize Quinn is similarly genius, I think we're okay."

Puck scowled at that. "Whatever. Can I commandeer your bed?"

"Are you planning to sail it away? Because I'm not sure how well it floats or where you'll find an ocean in Lima."

At that, Puck rolled his eyes. "I'm going to take a nap on it. Because I'm dead tired but can't seem to sleep anywhere else. I promise if I'm unconscious I can't make judgmental comments about what you put in the bag instead of a box."

"Always a selling point." Kurt frowned. Everyone let him do as he liked, but no one stopped complaining about it. "Do what you want so long as you don't mind the packing noises."

"Kurt, this is the quietest place I've been all day, even when you add in the crumpling newspaper and moving plastic bag sounds." He sounded exhausted, and Kurt had to wonder why he couldn't sleep at home just then.

Instead of asking, Kurt nodded and squeezed Puck's hand before turning back to his packing. Maybe he would continue with his closet. Clothes were typically quieter as far as packing went. Puck was fast asleep before Kurt had even set out the boxes for the clothing he decided could stand to be folded. He guessed most everyone else in the house would be shocked to hear that Kurt didn't even mind that he couldn't wear the clothes he packed until they found a new home, whenever that may be. Most days, he still wore the dark clothes Rob had given him even though he knew he should fucking burn them. He rubbing a hand absently against his black skinny jeans, the same pair he'd worn to meet Jace at a coffee shop in New York, reached for an overpriced sweater he hadn't worn in over a year, folded it, and moved on to the next.


	54. Finn: A New Place

They were moving over Spring Break so Finn and the glee club would have time to help. It was intense how fast everything with the new house went. Finn was pretty sure they were racing against some other family to see who could move first. Kurt had even let Tina spike his hair because he said it expressed his... something about him feeling anxious. Or something.

The new house was pretty awesome. It was on the end of the street, and looked just old enough to be a tiny bit creepy even though most of the inside was new. It had fancy wood floors even Kurt admitted he liked, a dusty attic Finn could imagine finding some old treasure in, and four bedrooms. Burt said the fourth one would make a good office. All of the bedrooms were upstairs, and Finn called the one with the slanted ceiling because it felt mysterious. Like why would anyone need a slanted ceiling in a bedroom? Kurt didn't mind since that left him the slightly larger room at the end of the hall.

"Finn, stop imagining the faeries living in the walls and help me carry this dresser upstairs," Burt sounded a little out of breath but still amused.

"Sorry," Finn said sheepishly. He didn't think there were faeries, but maybe a nice ghost, like Casper but less cartoony, would be cool.

"Stop right the fuck there!" Kurt had been on edge all day, and he definitely sounded it shrieking at them now. "Dad, you're panting. You're not allowed to carry that upstairs. Puck!" He turned to call the jock's name. "Grab Mike and come help with something." Kurt was weirdly fidgety and his hands kept shaking, but he led his dad away firmly enough that Finn knew Kurt would be okay while he and the other guys moved furniture into the rooms upstairs.

"Is Kurt okay?" Mike kept his voice soft. "He's freaking out a little."

"Oh he's freaking out a lot, but he hasn't threatened to off anyone yet, so..." Puck tried to shrug and ended up almost ruining Finn's grip on the dresser.

"Dude, be careful!" Finn frowned, thinking more about Kurt than about carrying stuff. "He'll be okay. Kurt just has to get used to being here." Finn didn't say it, but he actually thought it helped Kurt that he'd already chosen a color—if grey counted as a color—and gotten the walls of his new room painted. He thought it made the room feel more Kurt's.

"Yeah, yeah." Puck hesitated. Finn could tell even though his friend tried to pass it off as focusing on the dresser. "You're all sure it's best for him to be moving somewhere unfamiliar like this?" He didn't quite look at Finn when he spoke, like the frame would leap out at the walls if he took his eyes off it.

"You think it's better he stay around the familiar bloodstain on his carpet?" Finn knew they could just replace the carpet. Actually, the plan was for Finn and Burt to do that once they finished moving everything out of the old house. Burt said he believed the realtor who said the house would sell better without blood in the basement.

"So are you replacing everything he's ever owned? Because the flooring can't be the only part of that room with bad memories attached."

Mike grunted, shifting the his grip harder than he really needed to since he was more helping to guide than doing much lifting. Puck must have seen something there that Finn missed because he scowled, then laughed a little.

"Sorry, man. But Finn and I have always argued about whatever the hell we can think of. You know that." He shifted his hold to correct where it'd slipped.

"Oh, hey Kurt, did you need something?" Mike spoke louder than he really needed to, looking past Puck's shoulder. Finn realized then why Mike had tried to shut them up.

"Just looking for a new place to keep some bad memories. Carry on." Kurt turned up his nose and went back the way he'd come. If not for Mike, stuck in the middle and trying not to let the awkwardly large dresser and it's weirdly loose drawers scuff the newly-painted walls of the narrow hall, Finn would have dropped the thing and chased after Kurt. He didn't know what he'd say. Something about not trying to talk about him behind his back, especially since they couldn't have known which way he was facing.

Puck turned back to the other jocks frowning. "Hurry up, assholes. He's in a bad enough mood to actually be angry about that."

Mike just shrugged, so Finn adjusted his grip and started backing down the hall toward the master bedroom. At least he wouldn't have to carry the couch upstairs. This was easily the coolest house in Lima, but it sucked to move furniture in. After they got the dresser in the room, sitting pretty randomly on the floor since no one had come up to show them where the bed belonged, Finn left Mike and Puck to wonder if it should be resting elsewhere. He wanted to find Kurt.

It wasn't hard. He just followed the sound of Kurt's voice until he found him lecturing Sam about something to do with how the dining chairs were supposed to be set up. Finn wanted to hug Kurt but thought that might just make his brother feel worse right now. Sometimes Kurt wanted hugs, but this seemed like the opposite of that. This was more like a time when Kurt would attack anyone who tried to touch him. Finn was against being killed before he even had a bedroom again, so he kept his hugs to himself.

"I don't think he did it on purpose," Mercedes said. She'd been sitting at the table in one of the dining chairs that were supposed to be wrong somehow with her chin resting on her fist. Judging by how bored she looked, and that she sounded like she'd already said that, Finn guessed Kurt must have been at this for a while.

"I realize careless mistakes are rarely intentional. But if he'd paid attention, it would be pretty fucking obvious that the chairs for the ends of the table have a darker shade for the back railing. Honestly, don't you even have eyes?" The last part he shot at Sam with a hiss.

"Apparently not. Can I go carry boxes now?" Sam looked annoyed but still a lot more relaxed than Finn would have expected from him. Then again, they guy had dated Quinn. She could get pretty intense sometimes too.

"Fine then. But try to at least take them to the right room."

"They're labeled, Kurt. I think I'll manage." He left with his hands shoved into the pockets of his hoodie. On his way out, the blonde nodded to Finn.

"Boy," Mercedes jabbed a finger at Kurt's face, "I would give you a talk about bitching out perfectly nice guys who are just trying to help, but I doubt Finn came here just to stare." Mercedes and her finger left with a significant look at Finn who just shrugged because he didn't know what it was supposed to mean.

Instead of waiting for Finn to talk, Kurt started moving chairs about. He didn't say anything.

"We weren't trying to… gossip about you or whatever, you know." A while back, Kurt had a long talk with Finn about gossip. He said it was cool to gossip when it didn't really matter, like who Brittany was sleeping with, but that it was bad to gossip about important things, like Kurt being kidnapped and tortured by a known rapist.

"Yes, I caught that it was just about my fucking welfare. Wonderful. I'm so grateful. Go away."

"We're just worried about you. You've been, I don't know, in constant low freak out mode for three days straight. Have you even slept?" He tried to sit in a chair only to be shooed away because Kurt had decided that one should be on the other side of the table.

"Do I ever?"

"More than you used to." Finn stood by, watching Kurt move chairs until even the countertenor was satisfied and collapsed into one of them.

"I'm not sure what you expected if you're confused by my being a little on edge." He crossed his arms but immediately uncrossed them and picked at imaginary, or maybe invisible, lint on his pant leg.

"A little?" Finn forced himself to smile just a little even though Kurt would think it was condensation. Or a word that sounded a lot like that. It made Finn feel like an asshole except that he'd realized it always worked, and Kurt was better off for it.

"Damn near exploding with fear-inspired tension. Whatever. It still can't exactly be a surprise." That counted as working, so Finn didn't feel like quite so massive a douche.

"Well not to me or your dad or Puck. But some of the others don't see you when you're…"

"Not fit for company?" Kurt offered, still sounding bitter even though an almost-smile reached his lips.

"Yeah. Sam's not used to being screamed at over chairs. And I think Mike is scared even though all he did was say 'hi' to you."

Kurt crossed his arms and arched his brow. "He also tried to cover for you and Puck." For the next sentence, he softened his voice, "But I suppose he didn't mean anything bad by it except that his friends can be jerks sometimes."

Finn finally crossed over to Kurt to lay his hand on the other boy's shoulder and squeeze gently. "You don't have to worry about any of this part, you know. Unless you think it'd be worse to sit around not doing anything. 'Cause then I guess you better find my mom because I think she's unpacking the downstairs bathroom."

Kurt didn't quite chuckle, but he was close enough to make Finn feel better. "'Nothing' would absolutely be worse because I would just think about how everyone was messing up the new house." He stood and hugged Finn, though he pulled away quickly when Finn tried to return it. "I think I'll find Carol. We wouldn't want the hand soap on the wrong side of the sink, now would we?" He winked halfheartedly and left Finn in the dining room.

It wasn't perfect, but it was enough. For now anyway. Finn went to find Burt for instructions on what else to carry. As he left the dining room, he nodded to himself thinking, _Yeah, for now that's more than enough._ The rest, the healing, adjusting, and hugs Kurt doesn't flinch away from would come later. But right then, Finn was okay with now.


	55. Kurt: Unfamiliar

Kurt woke to unfamiliar shadows shifting on the ceiling above him. His arms were stretched up toward the headboard. Without moving, he tried to dart his eyes around the room. Where the hell was he? All he could make out were stacked boxes and a tapping sound. Kurt closed his eyes, listening, and hoping no one would notice him. The night air chilled his body, making Kurt realize he'd woken up in a sweat. Sleep was close enough that he remembered flashes of nightmare, most of them Robin's scarred face. They faded as sleep retreated further.

Still the tapping remained the only sound he heard. His mind's eyes pictured a man—Robin at first but transformed into Pierce when he remembered Rob's death—sitting restlessly at a folding table, tapping a quarter impatiently against the hard surface as he waited for Kurt to wake. Kurt tried never to move, even as he began to shiver in the cold and tremble with his fear. Part of him remembered Pierce was in jail, but Robin had been in jail once too. And Jace... Jace was still free. He could have helped Pierce since they were the last of Robin's team to still live. Maybe once he'd waded through most of his grief over Todd, Jace had realized that even though he hated Robin, it would be worth it to avenge Kitty. Kurt thought maybe they had been friends.

He heard the shuffle of feet moving softly against a hard floor, but distant, like it happened in another room. It moved closer, closer. The tapping morphed into a scrape as a rush of wind surrounded the building Kurt was in now, whatever that was. He half expected to smell the stale air of a hotel room or the metal-tinted dust of an old, abandoned warehouse. Those were the places he associated with kidnapping. But Kurt couldn't smell much of anything except the dryer-fresh scent of his shirt where its sleeves fit between his arms and face.

A new tapping, this time louder as if on a wooden door. It came once, twice, three times. "Kurt?" For a moment, the countertenor couldn't tell who was speaking or think why the voice strayed so little from the sound of a whisper. "Are you okay? I thought I heard something, and then the wind got all spooky."

Finn. It was Finn.

Kurt let out a strangled sound, though even he couldn't tell what words he'd meant to force out. It was Finn, just Finn. He sat up as the door opened. The original tapping had started again, and now Kurt recognized it for a tree branch moving against the window. _His_ window. He wasn't in some distant room, locked away from his loved ones. He was in his own fucking house, just it was the new one.

Finn brushed a finger against Kurt's cheek, wiping away tears the smaller teen hadn't noticed himself. "Hey, you're okay, bro." He pulled Kurt into a hug, and the countertenor clung to his brother, twisting his fingers into the other boy's shirt. "Nightmare?"

Kurt nodded against his chest. "I didn't know where I was when... when I woke up."

"Yeah, I fell out of my bed yesterday morning 'cause I'm used to having something up against my back to stop me from rolling over."

Even though he was still trembling, his mind still clinging to irrational terror despite knowing he was safe now, the smaller boy chuckled. "I told you. You need a bigger bed. I can't even manage in a twin, and I'm like a third your size."

He felt Finn shrug. "Never had room for a bigger bed before. I thought I was used to this one." He rubbed his hand up and down Kurt's back slowly.

"From what I hear, you're used to a couch. I still don't know how you fit your legs on it."

"They stuck off the end. And _don't laugh._ " Finn tightened the hug, squeezing Kurt for a moment, before pulling back. "Are you okay now? Do you need like water or something?"

Contact felt strange to Kurt now, foreign, but he scooted over to his brother and put his arms back around him anyway. "I'm okay, just... stay with me a little while?" Strange or not, Kurt liked hugging Finn. It made him feel almost safe.

"Of course." Finn pulled away long enough to scoot over and lean against the headboard. He flashed Kurt a goofy smile and patted the bed next to him. Once Kurt had crawled back over and pulled his comforter back onto the bed to cover his legs, Finn put an arm around the smaller boy's shoulders. "Burt wants me to help him clean out the attic tomorrow." Finn grimaced. "My mom never had a problem with bugs before, but she says she won't go in a place that's probably full of 'em if she has someone else to do it for her."

"So that means you and Dad?"

"Yeah. But she said she'd grill us steaks to make up for it!" He perked up at that. "So unless there's like ghosts or zombies or radioactive spiders up there, I'll get an awesome dinner."

Kurt smiled. All it really took to cheer Finn up from just about anything was food or music. He could remember times when neither of those were enough, like when he found out the child he thought was his was actually Puck's, but otherwise, Finn managed to stay cheerful more easily than almost anyone Kurt knew.

"Hey, Finn?" It came out nearly as a whisper.

"Yeah, Kurt?"

"I..." He didn't know how to ask, or how to explain how comforting he found it to just be close to someone without them expecting anything from him. Usually with Finn, Kurt knew simple worked best. "Can you just stay tonight?"

"Oh." Finn fidgeted a moment. No doubt he still remembered Kurt's crush from the year before, even if he'd grown more comfortable with his brother since then. "I guess. So long as I don't start falling off your bed too."

"Try not to. The nightstand might give you a concussion." He winced.

"Oh, yeah, 'cause _that_ makes me feel better." Finn rolled his eyes, but he settled himself into a more comfortable position, still keeping one arm around his brother while he used the other to grab at the comforter. "You better not be a blanket hog though. My feet get cold."

Kurt arched an eyebrow. "Frankenteen, I'm surprised to hear anything about you is ever cold. You spend all of your time telling our parents to turn the air up even when the house is freezing."

Finn shrugged awkwardly. "Not my fault you're some kind of ice monster. Like a tiny abdominal snow man."

"Abominable."

"Whatever. Go to sleep." Finn yawned and closed his eyes, so Kurt lay back, trying to ignore the tapping against his window. Someday, he hoped he'd be able to wake in this house without wondering where the hell he'd been taken before he remembered he live here now. The wind knocked the trees branches against the window, and Kurt closed his eyes.


	56. Puck: A Difference

This was the exact opposite of anything Puck had expected from Quinn. Not that he was complaining. Really. Because it was also sexy as all hell even though she was wearing jeans and a floral blouse that would have looked like old lady clothes on Rachel but just transformed into gorgeous on Quinn. Puck jerked his wrists a little to feel the tug of their restraint.

"Do you want me to loosen them?" Quinn pulled back, looking at her boyfriend's wrists where she'd tied them with the red silk ribbons she had appeared at his door with.

"Way to ruin the moment, babe." He sighed.

"You were just pulling at them, and I don't want you to be uncomfortable or to hurt your wrists." She actually looked worried.

Puck laughed. "Quinn, they're perfect. The point of tying my wrists up is that I can't move them, but I won't notice that if I don't even try."

"So you're trying to not move them by moving?"

"Just shut up and kiss me some more?" He tried to give her his charming smile but only got a bitchy glare in response. "Look, I already promised to tell you if I want to be untied. That's not enough?"

"No, it is. I just... I haven't done anything like this before."

"Neither have I. But I guess I do have an advantage since it's my kink. Next time we can try to figure out yours, promise."

"Stop smirking." She pressed a finger to his chest. "You think you can get out of anything by being cute or kind of a perv. But _you know me_ , Puck. I won't give up that easy. And making out with you is not the main reason I came over."

No, she'd come over to convince him there was nothing bad about his desire to be tied up because there was a difference between a consenting partner and a victim. "But it's a nice perk, right?"

She smiled softly in the way she did when she just couldn't hold it back. "Yeah, it's nice. Especially since your hands are already where they won't be trying to grab at my butt."

"I knew there was a reason you wanted to do this."

"Perks, right?" Her smile turned seductive as she leaned forward, but she stopped before her lips reached Puck's. "I love you, you know."

Puck grinned. "You too," he said and lunged forward as far as his tied wrists would let him to catch Quinn's lips in a kiss.

She pressed him back, deepening the kiss and pressing her tongue into Puck's mouth. Quinn's hand traveled along his torso and reached under his shirt to slide against the heated skin of the jock's back. She brought her hands down to tease at the waistband of Puck's jeans even though they both knew no one would be shedding any clothes tonight.

Puck felt himself tense, and a word came out of his mouth without him telling it to. He relaxed the muscles in his hands because they hurt and realized in doing so that he had clenched them into fists. Quinn pulled back and saw something in his face that Puck didn't know he'd put there. She climbed off the bed and began untying him. The jock wanted to ask what she was doing but had to figure out what _he_ was doing first. Once his hands were free, Puck pulled them down into his lap and hunched over them.

Instead of joining him, Quinn knelt on the floor with her hands on top of the bed. "Can you tell me what I did?"

Puck cursed. "No." This was fucking stupid. "I don't know what it was." She had done nothing wrong. So Puck must have. He reacted wrong. But why the fuck had he done it? He rubbed absently at his stomach.

"Are you sure? Or is it just one of those things you don't want to admit?" If her voice was any more condescending, Puck's fucking comforter would feel bad about itself.

"Of course I'm sure. I didn't even know I was freaking out until you were off the goddamn bed."

"Fine. Then how about I tell you what it was?" This was almost a relief. At least Quinn's anger never felt faked like the voice she used when trying to get him to tell her something when she already knew the answer. "While I was touching you, it made you think of one of the times someone tied you up without your permission. Probably when Kurt had you on his bed since it was the touching and not the tying that set you off. And if you try to tell me it's not a big deal, so help me I'll, I'll..."

"Can't think of anything bad enough?" Puck almost managed a smirk.

She collapsed next to him on the bed. "I'll tell Kurt."

Checkmate. "You can't."

"I can," she said, "I will too since right now I'm more worried about you." Fuck, but Puck hoped she was bluffing. He could never tell with Quinn.

Puck lay back on the bed and groaned. "I'll never have sex again, will I?" And Kurt fucking Hummel was still the last person, besides Puck, to have laid hands on the jock's dick.

He heard her not quite bite back a snort. "As much as I hate to admit it, I think that's part of what I'm trying to help you with."

"Well then, what are we waiting for?"

"I think that's enough for tonight, Puck." She did cuddle up to him though.

"Yeah, I guess so."

After a few minutes of quiet, Quinn said, "You might think about seeing a therapist, you know. It's not just for people who've had it as bad as Kurt."

"No."

"It's just I don't have any idea what I'm doing, and maybe someone with training could—"

"I said no." He smoothed the scowl from his face. "Even if I wanted to, my mom can't afford that on top of all the money I already wasted for her by running off to New York with her credit card in my pocket and her car supporting my fine ass."

"If it's a question of money, I can help. My mom's not exactly broke."

"I don't care. I still said no."

"Okay." She sighed. "It was just a suggestion. I'd be a bad girlfriend if I didn't try just once."

"You're a fantastic girlfriend."

"I am, aren't I?" She sounded pleased with herself. Puck didn't mind; Quinn was perfect.


	57. Kurt: A Place to Come Back To

"Eyes on your paper, Kurt," Burt said without bothering to look up from his newspaper.

"Someday I'll think of something dumber than this. Then I'll probably die of the pure stupidity." Kurt scowled at his test page. He couldn't believe the teachers at William McKinley had fucking banded together to have his dad _monitor_ him while he took his finals at home. He even had to do it on the day of finals. Being traumatized beyond any hope of attending public school this year was supposed to get him out of the annoying-ass parts of schooling.

"Just finish your test so we can get something to eat."

Kurt huffed but turned back to the equations on his paper. He had seriously considered just dropping out of high school because he could sing, dance, and dress fabulously without a diploma. Instead, the countertenor filled in the bubble that looked least likely to be wrong and moved on to the next question. Exams were a stupid way to measure learning anyway. They only really told what students had memorized, not what they understood. Kurt frowned at his paper, knowing the expression was lost on the test, and just kept working. Finally, Kurt completed the last test and handed it over to his father.

Burt grinned as he took the paper. He had taken the day off work to spend it with Kurt and excused it because of Kurt's finals. The last exam joined the others in a manila folder which Burt sealed and put away in his office. When the mechanic returned, he had his car keys in his right hand and a smile on his face.

"Ready to go, son?"

With a sneer his father clearly chose to ignore, Kurt nodded his head and adjusted the light scarf around his neck. Kurt couldn't bring himself to care that the May weather was much too hot for scarves and arm warmers, or at least not enough to do more than grumble any time someone wanted him to leave the air-conditioned comfort of his house.

Kurt followed his father into the garage where they both climbed into Burt's truck. They had agreed to go to Breadstix to celebrate the completion of Kurt's junior year at McKinley. Burt had ignored Kurt's arguments that he would only complete it if he scored high enough on the exams, so they should wait to celebrate until he had his grades. Or, even better, until never.

Unfortunately, Burt knew better. Now the two headed out for lunch at a restaurant. Burt wouldn't even agree to let Kurt get his meal to-go. It had sounded like a perfectly reasonable compromise to the countertenor.

They made it to the strangely dim restaurant and through ordering with no more than small talk and a quick "How do you think you did on your exams," to which Kurt responded sarcastically as he tried to ignore everyone in the building besides the two of them. The constant chatter gave him some trouble. Kurt fidgeted in his seat, pulling at his clothes to make sure they covered his scars.

"You've been getting used to the new place pretty well," Burt noted, and, honestly, Kurt had expected him to tell the countertenor to sit still because _fuck_ was he moving around a lot.

"I do wake up thinking I've been kidnapped less frequently." Kurt had been livid when he discovered Finn had shared that with his father. He shouldn't have expected anything else, but he couldn't help it. He was used to secrets being secrets, at least in part because he was used to only sharing secrets with Puck. Kurt understood that Finn and Puck just had different ways of dealing with things. Still, he preferred Puck's.

"I want you to be able to feel safe there."

Kurt rolled his eyes before he could stop himself. "I don't feel safe, _anywhere,_ Dad. Not completely." Least of all in a restaurant slowly filling up with people. Kurt slipped his fingers into the pocket of his jeans and let them rest against the metal of the pocketknife, warmed by his own body heat. He still hadn't told anyone but Puck he carried that with him. Kurt was afraid his father and his therapist would take it away from him.

"I know. And I wish it were as easy as putting my arms around you and telling you there's nothing in the closet gonna get you. But I know that's not enough anymore. Hasn't been for a long time." He sounded tired. More than any fatherly need to protect his son or a longing for something simpler, that stood out to Kurt: his father was _tired._ Not tired of Kurt, as much as that was his first thought. Kurt suspected if he looked for it, everyone close to him would be tired. Not tired enough to throw him out and tell him his plan to stay in New York was the better one, but just feeling the strain of having someone so close to them cracked into such a shadow of his former self.

He wasn't supposed to think that way. Or at least that's what Dr. Keynes told him. Kurt wasn't damaged, she said, just hurt. If he broke his arm, he would have to put it in a cast and wait for it to heal. This was supposedly the same, but there was no cast that could cover Kurt's wounds. He'd tried one called Alex and all it got him was the bloodstain on his old carpet that he used to look at every morning and the memory of a now-dead woman's eyes widening as he snatched her wrists to keep her manicured hands from pressing an alarm.

Burt interrupted the silence that had settled around Kurt. "I want you to have a place to come back to where you can be safe and not have to worry about the rest of the world."

As soon as Burt finished speaking, Kurt stood and moved to the other side of the table so he could hug his dad. He didn't say anything. When he pulled away, he returned to his own seat to wait quietly for their meal. He didn't know how to respond any way other than sarcastically, but that wouldn't represent how he felt in the least. He thought Burt had gotten the message.

They ate together, and nearly all of the conversation drifted over from other tables. Quiet would have been better, less intrusive, and would have let Kurt feel safer. No one paid him any attention, though he kept shooting sidelong glances at everyone else in the restaurant. he didn't want them to sneak up on him or spy on him or whatever else people did around other people. Better that they left Kurt and his father to dine in peace.

Still, they only person staring at Kurt was Burt Hummel. When he noticed, the boy fidgeted more in his seat and tried not to look his dad in the eyes. As much as he fought against even leaving the house, he didn't want his father to have to understand how little Kurt could handle of the world. The man shouldn't have to look across a table and see the cracks shooting through his son or the way the pieces of Kurt shifted in fear of being hurt.

Burt paid the bill, and they left. Kurt held a box with the leftovers from his dish on his lap while Burt drove them home. The whole way, Kurt kept expecting his dad to bring something up, to say how nervous Kurt was, how scared, how weak. Kurt remembered when he was a child and Burt gave him speeches about how Hummels don't let people mess with them because Kurt had come home crying about being called a word he didn't understand. Burt had always made it better. He had always taken it to the school and made sure no one could hurt his boy. But he had also always expected Kurt to be stronger than the insults.

So why didn't he tell Kurt to be stronger now?

Kurt didn't need an answer. He knew. He _couldn't_ be stronger anymore. If someone hit him hard enough he'd shatter, and Burt would be left with his son in even more pieces than he was now. Burt knew his son was ruined, so he didn't bother trying to change what was too far gone to ever bring back.

"You did pretty good out there, kid." Burt glanced over and smiled as he pulled into the driveway.

"What?"

"I gotta admit, I thought you'd bolt out of that place before we even got our food. But you stayed the whole time and even ate a little." He gestured toward the styrofoam box in Kurt's hands.. "If you're hungry now that you're back home, you can finish that off. I just said we'd give it to Finn to convince you to take it."

Kurt didn't know how to respond. Instead of trying, he just leaned over and hugged his dad again. All those years while Kurt was growing up, Burt had been right: Hummels were stronger. Kurt had thought he always needed to be the strong one, but today it had been Burt.


	58. Burt: A Good Sign

Burt took it as a good sign when Kurt asked him for money to buy some overpriced outfits that didn't look any better than what the boy could have gotten from the mall. Kurt had always cared so much about his clothes, and honestly, Burt had been worried that Kurt stopped caring for so long. Carol chastised him later for handing it over so easily when they needed that money to pay for Kurt's therapy sessions and antidepressants, but he shrugged it off. Money didn't matter nearly so much to Burt as seeing his son care about something, anything, the way he used to.

Besides, some of the things Kurt wore now, the things he'd come back with, gave Burt a creepy feeling. He'd gotten that Meg woman's number from Puck, but she said Kurt refused when she offered to take him out to buy new clothes.

Kurt had already had the clothes, the black ones he wore too much, when he met Meg. Burt didn't want to think too hard about where they had come from or that Kurt kept wearing them. He didn't want to, but he couldn't help it. Burt had never thought he'd be one to notice or put much stock in clothes. Now he couldn't imagine ignoring them.

Burt jumped a little when his cell phone rang and chuckled at himself for being so skittish. The caller ID read Janice Carlisle. Even if she didn't handle is therapy anymore, she was still Kurt's psychiatrist. Dr. Keynes didn't have the right qualifications to handle medication, so she and Janice both kept in touch with Burt. Burt fumbled and almost dropped his phone trying to answer it.

"Janice? Is everything okay?"

"Yes, Burt, everything's fine." Sometimes he thought going by her first name was a trick Janice used so she could do the same to everyone else. She was in the psychology business, so Burt wouldn't put it past her.

"Oh, good." He smiled for a moment with the relief of knowing she hadn't called for some Kurt-related emergency.

"I'm actually calling because Kurt has been doing so well recently." She sounded ungodly chipper, but it didn't grate like it used to. Maybe because she wasn't discussing putting his boy on pills while smiling. That had been weird.

"Yeah?" He felt he should have more to say about his son, but Burt had always been one to save his words for when he needed them.

"Yes! I've consulted with Delilah—Dr. Keynes—and we agree that it's time to take Kurt off of his anti-depressants. But before we do, I want to check in with you since you see him a lot more than either of us could."

"He's been doing pretty well. Even got back into online window shopping. And online actual shopping." Burt half-consciously patted his wallet. It was no thinner since he'd paid by card, but he worried it might be if he didn't figure out a way to tell Kurt he didn't need a three hundred dollar scarf.

"Sounds like fun. Is there anything you've noticed that makes you think Kurt may not be stable enough to go off his medication?" Janice somehow managed always to sound genuinely curious when asking a question, any question. Burt was pretty sure she had bought it on the black market because that couldn't be normal or natural.

He took a moment to think about the question. This wasn't just a quick 'How's your son?' This was serious. "There is one thing." Burt flinched thinking about it again after having been so excited for a moment. He sat down on his office chair. "Some of the clothes he's been wearing, I think they're from Robin Banks."

For a moment, Janice didn't respond. That worried Burt.

"Does he act differently when he wears them?" After the silence, the question was almost a relief.

"Not that I've noticed." He paused, still thinking. "I think he wears them more when he knows he has to leave the house."

"Would you like me to suggest to Delilah that she bring this up in one of her sessions with Kurt?"

"I..." Burt rubbed a hand over his eyes. "No. He'll feel like we're plotting behind his back. I—I'll talk to him. Do you think it's enough to keep him on the meds?"

He heard a pen tapping over the phone and pictured Janice sitting at her desk tapping her heel and pen in time the way she had when they first met. "No," she said at last. "It's not ideal, obviously, but none of us expected Kurt to heal overnight. I would suggest trying to convince him that he doesn't need them anymore. Gently. If he refuses, give him time. Kurt puts a lot more stock in clothes than most boys his age. If he keeps wearing those, then they mean something to him." The words were serious. The tone was chipper. Burt would never get used to that.

"Yeah, sounds like a plan." Burt sighed.

"I always kept Kurt on a low dosage since he's young, so we should be able to wean him off of his medication without too much trouble. I need you to keep a close eye on Kurt. Right now his brain is used to having a little help, so there is a good chance he'll become more depressed. Depending on how he's doing, you may even want to save your clothing conversation until you're sure he can handle it."

"Okay, so how exactly does this work?"

"Really we just lessen his doses gradually until he's not taking anything anymore. I'll write up his new prescription amounts right away."

"Okay. Thanks, Janice."

"You are very welcome! If Kurt has any trouble, don't hesitate to call Delilah or myself. Transitioning off of antidepressants can be just as hard as starting to take them for some people."

Janice covered symptoms Burt should be worried about. He remembered most of them, he thought. Then he stood, brushed himself off, and headed down the hall to Kurt's room. He tapped on the door with his knuckles and waited for Kurt to respond before entering. He entered the room as nervous as he suspected any dad would be, but grinning like an idiot anyway. The room was subdued, but still definitely something Kurt had decorated. Burt settled onto the loveseat Kurt had fit against one wall and waited for Kurt to stop looking anywhere but at him.

"What do you want, Dad?" Kurt rubbed at his arm, but he looked at Burt.

"I just got a call from Janice."

"Why?" Kurt sounded honestly surprised. His eyes darted to the hall as Finn passed by, but the taller boy waved and moved on without trying to enter the room.

"We're going to start taking you off your antidepressants."

"What the fuck for?" Burt remembered when Kurt didn't want to take any pills, and now the boy was questioning getting off them.

"Because we think you can handle things on your own, son. You'll still see Dr. Keynes twice a week, but before too long you won't have to take any more pills." Burt shrugged. "Janice called to make sure I agree, and I think you've been doing pretty darn well."

"Oh, yes, _so_ well. You realize I used my brother as a teddy bear recently right? Because the tree outside my window is scary." Kurt rolled his eyes. He looked annoyed with himself.

"Yes, I know. Kurt we aren't saying you've gotten through all the pain you ever will, just that you need to tackle it on your own now." Burt leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees.

"And I couldn't before?"

It was hard not to hesitate. "No."

Kurt looked taken aback. "I guess I was freaking out and holing myself up in the basement."

"Just a little." Burt moved off the loveseat to where Kurt sat at his desk. He motioned for the boy to stand. Once Kurt was on his feet, Burt wrapped his arms around him. "You'll be fine, kiddo."

"I love you, Dad."

"You too, son."

Burt held his son and felt, even though he couldn't possibly know it, that the boy would be alright. He let himself cling to that feeling.


	59. Kurt: On His Own

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have been told that narizóna may be an insult for someone with a big nose, so I'm just going with it for now but remain open to correction.

Kurt wanted to attack something. His fingers twitched. That he had no reason to be freaking out only made it worse. He sat between Puck and Mercedes on the couch. Kurt should have been thinking about how much easier the summer had been than the winter when it came to fitting everyone in his living room. Instead he could only think of all the places someone could be hiding. Of the places he could hide if he needed to. Of the best ways out. Of the fasted route to his car. Of where he could drive to if he needed to get away from the house. Of where no one would think to find him.

He had one hand in his pocket and brushed his fingers against the familiar metal of the knife he kept there. It wasn't the one that killed Robin, but it was the one that freed Annette. There had never been time for Kurt to feel like a hero, but that must have been how Annette saw him. That must have been why she came to see him, why she left the pocketknife for him. Kurt even thought that must have been why Puck wanted him to have this one. He eyed Puck, wondering what he'd done with the other knife even though he couldn't decide anymore if he wanted it back.

Right now he did. Right now he wanted to look on something that had destroyed a man who thought he was stronger than Kurt. If he asked for a mirror right now, would he see it? Sometimes he could tell by the way Puck looked at him when his eyes were a killer's. Puck was looking at Quinn, laughing about something. Fuck, but Kurt hated cute couples.

Goddamnit. Nothing had happened, but now Kurt wanted to cry. The countertenor brought his legs up and pressed them against his chest. He wrapped his arms around them, and pressed his chin to his knees. When his dad said Kurt would go off the antidepressants, Kurt had thought that was because he could feel okay on his own now, not because they wanted to throw him back into the mess he'd been before.

A hand took his, and Kurt turned from scowling at nothing to look at Mercedes. She smiled. It was soft and sweet, and Kurt couldn't even imagine how to make a smile like that anymore. Sometimes he couldn't imagine that anyone would want to look at him that way. Clearly Mercedes did. She was his friend. Kurt didn't bother trying to smile because he knew it wouldn't work, but he smoothed away his frown and squeezed her hand. She kept hold of his hand and moved to sit a little closer to him.

"Kurt," Brittany spoke up from across the room, cutting through Finn and Sam's debate as to whether Skeletor or Megatron would win in a fight. "Don't be sad."

"Thanks, Brittany. I'm fine." Kurt tried to make his voice soft because he knew she was just trying to be nice.

"You'd be happier if you didn't always wear the same depressing outfit." She nodded her head as if she'd just given sage advice.

They were the clothes from Robin. Kurt let go of Mercedes' hand and rubbed his palms against the thighs of his skinny jeans. No one knew about his clothes. His lips curled into a sneer.

"I can wear whatever I damn well please." He tugged self-consciously at his arm warmers. No one knew. How could they? Brittany was just responding to the color. That was all. "And aren't you a bit dim to be telling me what to do?" He didn't have to change his clothes. Brittany couldn't make him. She was just some slutty ditz.

"Excuse me?" Santana stood and put her hands on her hips. "Britts is trying to be nice to your bitch ass. Show some appreciation."

"Or what? You'll 'go all Lima Heights' on me?" Kurt raised an eyebrow.

"Maybe I will." Kurt guessed that was supposed to be intimidating.

"Santana, I've been to your house. It's in a really nice neighborhood." Sam spoke up sounding more confused than anything else. "Your dad's a doctor."

"Shut yo trouty lips, Sam, and gets out of my business." Santana jabbed a finger at him. The jock shrugged and leaned back into his seat. "Now, you," she swung the finger around to Kurt, "Apologize to Brittany."

"Fuck no." Kurt let his feet drop from the couch to the floor and crossed his arms.

"Tana, calm it." Puck stood, raising a hand open-palmed toward the angry cheerio.

"Yeah," Finn added from his seat beside Rachel, "Kurt just gets self-conscientious sometimes."

Rachel placed a hand on Finn's arm. "That's self-conscious, Finn. And I propose we all take a moment to breathe and find a song that expresses how we feel right now."

"Oh, who asked you, narizóna?" Santana had her full bitch in gear now.

Rachel stood too, directing all her diva energy straight at Santana. "I'll have you know that singing is a proven method of—"

"No offense, Rachel, but no one wants to sing right now," Artie shifted his wheelchair to better face Rachel.

She pouted and sat back down without saying anything more.

"Now can we all just calm the hell down? Kurt doesn't need us yelling at each other." Puck let out an exaggerated sigh.

"Oh, yeah, 'cause you know _all_ about how important it is to keep Kurt calm, Mr. Let's-provoke-Kurt-to-stab-me-in-the-arm." Santana brushed Brittany's hand away when the blonde tugged on her skirt.

"That wasn't his fault," Quinn piped up.

"Yeah," Puck agreed, "I couldn't have known he'd react that way."

"No one else got stabbed." Santana crossed her arms.

"No one else tried to stay as close to him as I did."

"Are you saying it's Kurt's fault then?" Santana asked.

"No!"

"Too bad." She shrugged. "Because here I thought he was the one holding the knife."

Kurt remembered a few minutes earlier when he'd wanted to stab someone. He wondered if he could get away with hurting Santana. But, no, then they'd take _this_ blade from him too. Kurt pulled his fingers out of his pocket and away from the knife just in case.

"It is his fault, you know," Quinn said to Puck. Her voice was soft. "He didn't have to attack you."

Something in Puck's eyes shattered and then hardened. "PTSD isn't his fault, Quinn. You should know that." Kurt heard something more in the words but couldn't tell what it was. Judging by Quinn's expression, she could.

Everyone was watching Puck and Quinn. Kurt hopped over the back of the couch and headed for the stairs. Maybe he could lock himself in his room before anyone noticed he had gone. Quinn and Puck were still talking, moving further into shouting territory with each sentence. Kurt thought the lovers' quarrel was enough to cover his escape until a hand wrapped around his wrist.

"They don't mean anything by it, Kurt." Sam said, his expression serious and a little sad. He let go of Kurt's wrist.

"Really? Because Quinn is still shouting at Puck for it, and I think Santana's rejoined the fight too." Kurt turned back to continue up the stairs. He heard Sam following.

"Brittany didn't mean to hurt you, and I think you know that, at least." He followed Kurt into his bedroom and left the door open. Kurt hated having the door open. Then again, he doubted Sam would know that since he didn't think Sam had ever been in Kurt's room before.

"Good for her."

"And I think we all know how defensive Santana gets of Brittany." Sam shoved his hands in his pockets.

"Because it's not like Santana doesn't insult everyone who crosses her path or anything." Kurt scowled.

"True enough." Sam shrugged. "But you did call Brittany dumb."

"She deserved it." Kurt dropped onto his bed and told himself he wasn't pouting.

"Dude, I was there, and I still have no idea why you got pissed at her." Sam had to sound so... sincere saying that, didn't he? It made Kurt want to punch him.

"What, it's not enough that I did?"

"Not like we can keep from doing it again if we don't know what bothered you." Sam sat on the bed next to Kurt and, after a moment's hesitation, put his arm across Kurt's shoulders. "I know I didn't know you very well before all this happened, Kurt. And I can't imagine what you've been through. But that doesn't mean I'm not here for you. Everyone downstairs is here for you too. I think you know we're not perfect, but we're trying."

Lovely. Kurt thought he'd been getting sap from his family and Puck. Now Sam had to join the club. "Maybe I don't want you to try."

"I think you do."

"Well what do you know?"

Before Sam could answer, Finn and Mercedes came into the room. "There you are, dude," Finn said. "You ran off during the exciting part."

"I doubt he'd call that exciting, Finn," Mercedes countered as she moved past him into the room.

"Oh." His eyes fell on Sam. Something told Kurt that Finn honestly hadn't noticed the blond until then. "Dude are you..." He turned away. "Kurt did you want anything for lunch?"

"I'm not hungry." Kurt hadn't even noticed it was lunch time.

Sam straightened from his seat beside Kurt. "What, Finn? What were you gonna ask me?"

"Nothing."

"It wasn't nothing." Sam frowned.

"It was just, um... Are you gay?" Finn shuffled like he knew exactly how stupid a question it was.

"You think I was hitting on your brother?" Sam sounded plenty incredulous. Of course he did. Kurt couldn't think of anyone who'd actually want to hit on him. At least some things never changed.

"Well, no, I didn't, I guess, maybe," Finn babbled, staring at his feet.

"The last thing Kurt needs right now is someone hitting on him, Finn. You think I'm too dumb to realize that?"

"No, I just..."

"You don't think Puck's gay when he sits by Kurt."

Finn shuffled his feet. "Puck's known Kurt a lot longer than you have..."

Sam rolled his eyes. "I'm not gay. And I'm not even single." He stood and brushed off his pants even though they weren't dirty. As he was leaving the room, Sam turned back to Finn. "You know what Finn, I'm really not gay, but how about you ask me if I'm straight, just for laughs."

"Okay?" Finn sounded as confused as Kurt felt. "Are you straight?"

Sam laughed. It sounded forced and angry. "Of course not." He left.

"Wait what?" Finn scratched at his head. Sometimes Kurt thought his brother was secretly a cartoon character.

"He's bisexual," Mercedes said. "And he really wouldn't flirt with someone who he knew wasn't ready for a relationship. So back the hell off him, Finn." She turned to Kurt. "You'll be okay alone with the doofus?"

"I'll manage." Kurt smirked. He had just realized Sam and Mercedes were dating.

Mercedes left the room, no doubt to find her boyfriend. Finn just looked confused.

"What just happened?" he asked Kurt.

"I think you just got... what was the word? Owned?"

"Yeah, that's the word." Finn shuffled over to the bed "Do you think it might cheer you up not to be cooped up in here?" Finn grinned. "We're all going to the pool tomorrow, and you could come if you want."

Kurt felt his face fall with his mood. He'd almost felt nice at finding his friend had a boy. But this was the last fucking thing he needed. He tried to bury his face in his hands, but his fingers were tensed into claws.


	60. Finn: Better

"Are you fucking serious, Finn?"

Finn didn't understand why Kurt's face went red or why his lips pulled away from his teeth in what wasn't anything like a smile, but he knew what it meant. He held up his hands in front of him with the palms facing Kurt and made sure he wasn't smiling.

"Dude, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to upset you." He let himself smile, just a little.

"Of course you didn't _mean_ to, Finn. You never _mean_ to." The words could have sounded like a sigh. Kurt made them sound like gunfire.

"Please just tell me what I did so I can make it better, or at least say I'm sorry and know for sure I mean it." Finn wasn't ashamed to admit he was begging. He hated having his brother angry at him.

"And what if you don't mean it? What then?"

"Then I'll say I'm sorry anyway and try to figure out why that made you angry. C'mon, Kurt. I don't want to upset you."

"Then maybe you should fucking _think_ before you say something that makes me want to rip your hair out," Kurt screamed.

"All I did was ask if Sam was gay and invite you to the pool." Finn wished he knew what in there was bad.

"Yes, Finn, the _pool,"_ Kurt hissed. "Do I look like someone who wants to be at a pool?"

Mostly Kurt looked like someone who didn't want to be anywhere at all. "I don't know what that means." Finn hated the way his voice sounded so lost and hopeless. He wasn't the hurt one.

"Of course you don't. You're an idiot."

"Kurt," Finn took a cautious step forward. "Please."

"Do I look like someone who wants to wear a swim suit?" Kurt snatched off his arm warmers and followed them with the turtleneck shirt he wore despite the summer weather.

Finn had never seen Kurt's scars before.

He had always imagined they were bad. He had never imagined they were this bad. His brain, never much use when it came to words, forgot how to choose them at all. At least he couldn't say the wrong thing.

Before he could think about it, Finn stepped forward and pulled his brother into a hug. Kurt kept his arms at his sides at first. After a moment, he wrapped them around his brother and leaned in, pressing his face against the front of Finn's shirt. Finn wished every problem in his life could be solved by hugging Kurt, but something told him even this problem hadn't been solved. Not really. He didn't even think this was just one problem. It felt more like a thousand problems he couldn't even understand, much less fix. But hugging Kurt at least felt right. Finn couldn't fix it, but he could comfort his brother. He should have been comforting Kurt all along.

The front of Finn's shirt was damp, and Kurt shook with sobs Finn couldn't hear. With a sigh, Kurt pulled away. He didn't look angry anymore, just exhausted.

"I can't go to the pool, Finn. I can never go to the pool." His voice echoed through a hallow space between the two boys that Finn had almost let himself believe he could fill.

"I'm sorry, Kurt." He wanted to offer not to go to the pool, to stay home with Kurt in seven layers of clothing instead. He wanted to offer Kurt his life, his painless memories, and his unbroken skin. He wanted to offer Kurt everything, but all he had to give was an apology.

Kurt reclaimed his shirt from the floor and slid it back over his head and atop his scars. He dropped himself onto the bed and closed his eyes.

"I shouldn't have yelled at you." He rubbed a hand over his face in a way that reminded Finn of Burt.

"Why not? I was an ass."

"You didn't mean it. I'm just... so fucking jumpy since I got off the meds." Kurt opened his eyes and stared at Finn. "Besides, there are better ways to tell you I'm unhappy than screaming."

Finn smiled even though it didn't feel happy. "Can't argue with that, but if you have to scream at somebody, better me than pretty much everyone else you know."

"I don't know... Puck seems not to even notice."

Finn shook his head. "Better me than Puck. He notices and just tells himself he doesn't. I mostly get confused and don't know what's happening, but that's pretty normal for me."

Kurt chuckled. It sounded like the world righting itself. But his expression darkened again. "What did you mean about Puck?"

When Kurt asked that, Finn knew he'd done wrong. "He's just been really tired and stressed out, you know?" If that was enough for Kurt, Finn would give up anything. He'd even give up bacon.

"Because of me?" The hollowness in Kurt's voice turned thick and sticky.

Finn had never felt less thrilled to be free to eat bacon. "Not just you. Kind of everything, I think."

Kurt sat up, eyes cutting into Finn so deeply the jock was surprised Kurt couldn't pull out any answer he wanted just by looking. "What is that supposed to mean?"

With a heavy sigh, Finn sat down beside Kurt, knowing he'd lost something. Or that he'd broken something. "I don't know. He won't talk about it, and Quinn just says there's nothing I can do and she's helping Puck on her own."

A long while passed before either of them spoke again.

"Puck wants everyone to think he's fine. I think he wants you to think he's fine most of all." Finn rested a hand on Kurt's shoulder. "But Puck hasn't been fine in a long time. It's not just you, Kurt. He was messed up before he ever even met you."

Kurt leaned in to Finn's side. "But I made it worse."

"Everything that happens to him makes it worse. What's that saying? 'The camel broke its back on a bird'?"

The chuckle Kurt let out relieved Finn even though he knew it was temporary. "'The feather that broke the camel's back."

"Yeah. So there was a lot of crap on Puck's back, and then I guess you tickled him or something."

Kurt's laugh was stronger this time. "It means a tiny weight, Finn. Not a tickle."

"Well, I like the tickle thing better. It's way more realistic." He grinned at the way Kurt smiled at him.

"You have a point there, Finn." He put his arms around the jock's middle and held on.

"Kurt, I'm sorry I was being stupid. I need to learn to think about things before I say them." He needed to learn that Kurt wasn't just some kid anymore and never would be. Finn could afford to be careless with himself, but not with Kurt. Never with Kurt.

"It's okay, Finn. Just... no activities that involve being shirtless, okay."

Finn nodded and tightened their hug. He promised himself, and silently promised to Kurt, that he would do better. He would be better. He had to be.


	61. Kurt: No One Is Alone

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> JasonDragon64 (of ffnet) suggested the song for this chapter. :) It's "No One Is Alone" from Into the Woods. I had a ridiculous amount of trouble shortening it as much as I did, and still I think it's too long… While I thank you, Jason, I may or may not have been upset at you for giving me a song with so many words I wanted to keep.

Oh _fuck._

There were moments when Kurt looked back on all the times he had thought of school as hell and laughed at himself because it couldn't have been that bad compared to all the shit that happened to him after he was taken away from high school. Now Kurt realized he shouldn't have mocked himself. The only reason school wasn't hell was that it was much, much worse.

And where the fuck had summer gone anyway?

Kurt could handle the mall. People at the mall didn't give a fuck about him. Kurt could handle a restaurant. Everyone was too busy eating to notice him. Kurt could even handle the park despite his irrational hatred of small children. Well, maybe not so irrational considering the proportion of sticky fingers to clean ones. Somehow though, high school had nothing in common with other public places because at school everyone cared. Not in a concerned about his feelings or experiences way so much as an up in his business because everyone loves staring at a car wreck way. Kurt wondered how much trouble he would get in for attacking someone.

"Dude, it'll be okay," Puck put an arm across Kurt's shoulder and smiled at him for a moment before he returned to glaring at everyone in William McKinley High School except Kurt and his friends.

Finn walked on Kurt's other side. A goofy smile had fixed itself to his face even though Finn clearly wanted to help Puck in his glaring campaign. He was more than a little stupid to be so thrilled for Kurt's first day back at school, but then he didn't have to experience it from inside Kurt's head. Kurt adjusted his wrist warmers and failed to ignore the masses of people staring at him.

How many of them could see his scars? How many knew what had happened? How many of the whispered conversations he passed by were about him?

Suddenly taking all those finals in May seemed worth it because he could take senior level classes with Finn and Puck. The only class he had without a member of glee club was French. Kurt thought he could manage one class alone. Maybe. Fuck, but he hoped so.

"I thought we wouldn't have to deal with that faggot anymore." The voice came from behind Kurt. It was close.

Kurt turned, with a smart and foul-mouthed retort on the tip of his tongue. Stabbing, searing cold sliced through the words before he could speak them. By the time Kurt's eyes began to sting, Puck was already holding him back. _No one_ would ever make Kurt Hummel a fucking victim again. Not now. Not ever. A knee to the groin and a punch got Puck off him. Kurt had his nails in Strando's fleshy cheek before Finn pulled him back screaming words Kurt hadn't needed to use since he cut Robbie's fucking throat. Kurt slammed his heels against Finn's shins and tried to break free of his grip and chase after the fucking coward who had slushied him.

"Not cool, dude." Puck rubbed at his jaw where Kurt's fist had hit him as he walked into Kurt's view.

"He deserves to have his skin fucking peeled off and fed to him." Kurt growled the words from deep in his throat.

"No, he doesn't." Puck rolled his eyes.

"Kurt you need to calm down," Finn added, still gripping Kurt.

Everyone was staring. Big surprise.

Kurt scowled. "Just let me go."

Finn started to loosen his hold, but Puck stopped him. "Are you gonna act like a person or like a fucking banshee?"

Instead of answering, Kurt took advantage of Finn's reduced hold on him to slither out of his brother's grasp and move down the hall toward his class. Before Puck and Finn caught up to him (Kurt had no doubt that they would), Jacob Ben Israel rammed a microphone in front of Kurt's face.

"What's it like to prove your manhood by beating up Puckerman? And is it true that your experiences have led to a twisted nightlife sex addiction?"

With a hiss Kurt grabbed the mic and flung it across the hall where it smashed against a locker. "Do not ever put anything in my face like that again." Kurt pressed a finger to Jacob's chest, and the other boy backed away slightly. "And also, what the fuck kind of question is that? Do you make up this shit off the top of your head or actually sit around in your lonely bedroom jerking off to shitty lesbian porn and trying to think up the least believable lies you could possibly put on your blog?" Kurt turned on his heel and stalked to the restroom without waiting for an answer. The restroom emptied as soon as he entered, except that his ever-present entourage of Puck and Finn, who had government with him first period, followed him in.

"Dude," Puck groaned, leaning against one of the sinks Kurt wasn't using to wash slushy out of his clothes and off of his skin. "That was a little badass, but also a little crazy bitch. I thought you said you'd be okay for school."

"Yeah, you've been doing so well," Finn added. He held Kurt's bag in one hand and a fistful of towels in the other but still managed the gesture awkwardly toward Kurt.

Kurt sneered at his reflection. "I wonder what they'd do if they knew I could fucking _kill_ them. I know how, and I know I could do it. So what the fuck makes it okay for them to mess with me." It had been a long time since Kurt wanted to hurt someone this badly. He splashed water over his face more to stop looking at his reflection than because he thought any more slushy would come out of his eyebrows.

"What the fuck, Kurt?" Puck sounded worried. A hand—Puck's—spun Kurt around by his shoulder so Kurt had to look Puck in the eye. "What is wrong with you today? This is so fucked up, and I really thought you'd be okay."

Ever-helpful brother that he wanted to be, Finn pushed Puck back. "Calm down, man. That's not helping." He sighed and turned to his brother. "Do you want me to call Burt? You don't have to come back today if you don't want to."

Kurt actually considered it. "No." Going home would be admitting defeat. Kurt wasn't ready to lose anything today. "If I leave now, coming back again will only be harder." He took the towels from Finn and dried his face and clothes as best he could before leaving the restroom.

No one in the classroom made eye contact with Kurt. He had no way of telling how many of them knew what had happened. Probably all of them. Finn and Puck took seats by Kurt's. Something told Kurt that they weren't the only ones who could intimidate McKinley's student body anymore. He flashed a toothy grin at a girl he caught staring and fought not to laugh when her eyes jerked away like she had just seen her least favorite horror movie monster. Even though Kurt knew this feeling, he couldn't bring himself to hate it. He knew he should.

For a while, he hadn't thought much about Robin. That phase seemed to have passed. One day at high school threw months of therapy out the window with hardly a condescending laugh. Kurt let out a bitter chuckle to make up for it and wished when he let his mind wander that he thought of Puck's hands on him instead of Rob's.

After class, Finn stayed with Kurt by his locker to wait for Mike and Tina to go to English with him. He kept fidgeting and smiling even though he obviously had to force it. Once Mike and Tina arrived, Finn finally spoke to ask, "You'll be okay?"

"Of course I will." Kurt hadn't expected his voice to sound so clipped. He rolled his eyes and started walking toward his next class.

Tina caught up to him first. "Kurt, we..." She glanced over at her boyfriend as he came up on Kurt's other side. "We heard what happened."

"I'm hardly surprised." He took a step toward a boy who was staring at him and mouthing what could only be 'fag.' The boy flinched away, wide-eyed and practically trembling. Kurt smirked.

"Are you sure it wouldn't be better for you to go home?" Mike's eyes lingered on the boy Kurt had intimidated for a moment before returning to the countertenor.

"I'm fine."

"You're not." Tina slipped a hand into Kurt's lightly. He kept his eyes off her sad ones.

He pulled his hand away. "It won't help to leave."

"It might. You were a lot friendlier yesterday," Mike said.

"Come on, Kurt," Tina took his hand again, tighter this time. "You're obviously miserable and angry. If this is hurting you, it can wait."

"Just drop it." He took a deep breath and hated that it wasn't steady. "I won't back down now." If Kurt knew how to give up, he'd never have made it here in the first place. He ignored anything else the couple said as they walked to English.

While Kurt saw a few other jocks throughout the day, no one bothered him. He didn't catch even a glimpse of Strando. All he saw of Karofsky was a shocked stare and his back as he retreated. By that point in the day, Kurt didn't even have the energy to thank his good luck. He just wanted to go home, but his ride, Finn, had glee club, so Kurt had glee too. Apparently, glee club needed to meet in the auditorium. As soon as they entered, Finn ushered Kurt to a seat and left him there to join the others on stage.

Mr. Schue stepped forward. "Kurt, we just wanted to welcome you back to glee club. We've missed having you here." He stepped back to join the students in the back row as Brad started the music on his piano. The lights dimmed to spotlight Mercedes and Puck, who had stepped forward to stand in front of the others. Mercedes began to sing, and Puck joined in.

Mercedes stepped forward and began to sing.

_Mother isn't here now  
Wrong things, right things  
Who knows what she'd say  
Who can say what's true  
Nothing's quite so clear now  
Do things, fight things  
Feel you've lost your way  
You decide, but  
You are not alone  
Believe me  
No one is alone  
_

The others joined in as backup at the end of the verse and continued on into the rest of the song, moving in and out to join or spotlight Mercedes and Puck's voices depending on the line. The song had little choreography, mostly Mercedes and Puck moving slowly across the stage and staring out at Kurt earnestly. It was all very overdone, to be honest.

_People make mistakes  
Holding to their own  
Thinking they're alone  
Honor their mistakes  
Fight for their mistakes  
Everybody makes  
One another's  
Terrible mistakes  
Witches can be right  
Giants can be good  
You decide what's right  
You decide what's good  
_

Just what Kurt needed: a painfully sappy song that made him want to vomit. Honestly, he'd thought his friends were getting better at choosing songs that didn't feel completely wrong. Kurt sighed. He knew they weren't the problem here, not today. He rolled his eyes thinking maybe Dr. Keynes would be proud of him for admitting it, even if only to himself.

_Just remember  
Someone is on your side  
Someone else is not  
While we're seeing our side  
Maybe we forgot  
They are not alone  
No one is alone  
_

_Maybe some people deserve to be alone._ With that thought, Kurt stood and lifted the strap of his messenger bag to his shoulder. Even as he turned away, Mercedes continued singing. Her backup stopped short though.

_Hard to see the light now_  
 _Just don't let it go  
Things will come out right now  
We can make it so  
Someone is on your side  
No one is alone_

The door swung shut behind Kurt as he left the auditorium.


	62. Puck: I'm Not Okay

"What the fuck was that?"

Puck swung in his chair at Kurt's voice. He hadn't expected him to come to Puck's house at all, much less without texting first. Puck wondered if Kurt had driven himself over and only after realized he had no idea what Kurt was asking about.

"Um, it's like Robot Unicorn Attack but more metal?" Puck motioned to the game (well, game over now) on his computer screen. He'd lost his last life when Kurt startled him.

"What?"

"What?"

"I was talking about that stupid fucking song, not your gay hobbies."

"Says the guy who likes dudes." Puck arched an eyebrow.

"Oh, I bet you think you're witty." The tone and the way Kurt pulled down his eyebrows and the left corner of his mouth set off the loudest inner alarms Puck had.

"Kurt, it was just a song."

Kurt let out a sound somewhere between and whine and a snarl. "It's never _just_ a song with you people. It's an assessment or a wish or sometimes a demand. It's the moral of the story and a picture of my character. I don't want it." Kurt's voice rose in pitch as he spoke. Normally a guy speaking in that high a voice would be funny. From Kurt, it was strangely ominous.

"Look, it's not like it was my idea, or like I even know what it was from. I just did what everyone told me to, so for me, it was just a song."

"It's from Into the Woods, Puck. How do you not know that?" Good, his voice had lowered almost to normal.

Puck shrugged. "I'm not as into musicals as some of you."

Kurt sighed, and instead of draining him of anger the gesture seemed to drain him of whatever had held it off. "You should have known better."

"Look, Kurt, shit happens. What do you expect me to do? Hop in my time machine and fix everything?" As he spoke, Puck stood from his chair. He started toward Kurt but turned it into pacing around his room.

"It must be so nice to be able to pass off every mistake you make as 'shit happens.' Is it nice Puck? Does it help you sleep at night? Make you feel like you can do the same things again tomorrow because, you know, _shit happens?"_

"No," Puck spun with the word to face Kurt, arms shooting up before he caught himself and set them back at his sides. He realized he had shouted and tried to calm himself. Just because Kurt obviously wanted to provoke him didn't mean Puck should rise to the bait. He was better than that, wasn't he?

"Really? Because you've done this before. I'd even let myself believe you figured it out, that you understood that I cannot be in the same room as something like that anymore. It only makes me feel dirtier."

Puck had nothing to say. He knew that feeling. It was the way he'd felt when he saw Kurt naked and scarred on a motel bed and still found room in his head to think about saving him. The two didn't fit together, never had. Puck hadn't saved Kurt and never would.

He would have sat back down in his chair if he didn't collapse into it first. He brought a hand to cover his eyes. "I'm sorry, Kurt."

When Kurt gave no reply, Puck uncovered his eyes to find his friend staring him down. He hardly looked like Kurt anymore. Puck hadn't seen him like this for a long time. He had let himself think Kurt was better, that the darkness had drained out of his heart and returned him to the sassy boy who loved musicals. That was what Puck had wanted to see, and probably what Kurt had wanted to show.

Only when Puck had fully focused on him did Kurt move. He walked slowly forward. It was scary. It shouldn't have been, but then, Kurt had learned a lot about how to scare people, hadn't he? "I..." He let the word linger on his tongue and pour slowly over his open lips. "Don't..." He leaned forward, placing his hands on the arm rests of Puck's computer chair. "Care."

Kurt's face hardened to stone and fixed into the air in front of Puck's face. His eyes had always had a sharpness to them. Puck almost believed they could cut him now, slice him open for Kurt to study his insides and declare them unfit. He had never felt like this around Kurt. He had been so good for Kurt _because_ Puck never feared him or pitied him.

"I was wrong, Puck." Kurt's voice had gone deep into his lower register. Even if it would never be a movie super villain voice, it might have worked as a movie psychopath voice. "You aren't much like Rob at all. You're more Kitty, now that I think about it." He arched an eyebrow, looked Puck over, and left with a smirk.

Puck watched him leave and realized he had just lost something. Maybe everything.

He should have known better. Done better. Out of everyone, Puck knew Kurt best. The new Kurt anyway, the Kurt who had just stared him down. Everyone else still thought they knew the old Kurt and found little pieces of him whenever they poked through. Puck barked out a bitter laugh, but it sounded more like a sob. There wasn't an old Kurt or a new Kurt, just Kurt, and just Puck who _knew_ he wasn't ready for high school bullies and hadn't said a damn word about it because he just wanted Kurt to be okay so badly he convinced himself he was.

Puck tried to still his ragged breathing only to find himself bent over in his chair, fists pressed against his eyes to force back the tears that flowed out anyway. He was useless, broken, worthless. The only thing he'd been good at anymore was helping Kurt, and he'd just failed there too. Once he could see well enough to pull up her number, Puck called Quinn.

"You were right." His voice surprised him in its stillness.

"Not that I don't enjoy hearing the words alone, but, about what?" In the background, Puck heard a door close followed by the click and hiss of a can of soda being opened.

"I'm not okay."

A bruised ball of hurt had hung heavily in Puck's chest for so long now he hardly felt it anymore.

He had just blocked it off from the rest of him and pretended everything was okay. Now he felt it reaching out to swallow the rest of him and knew he lacked the strength anymore to hold it back. He didn't know what Quinn could have heard in his voice since he had stopped crying, but she said she was on her way over and to stay put.

Quinn said it was good that Puck had stopped trying to avoid her. She said it meant he trusted her. He took her word for it and waited on his bed because he didn't know what else to do. Part of him wondered if she would somehow twist this into a good thing. _Yes, Puck, you're useless, but it's best that you can't do anything right because I don't make any fucking sense._

With a groan, Puck rolled over, facing his back to the door. He knew what rock bottom was, had even been there before. And, yeah, it was supposed to help because there was nowhere to go but up, but Puck got the feeling that wasn't true. He could just... stay. The hollow place where he used to store up his pain echoed the thought back at him, making Puck certain that he _would_ just stay in this numb, dark place.

When Quinn showed up and climbed into bed so Puck's head rested in her lap, he tried to make himself either angry or sad, or at least to care enough to answer her constant questions: "What's wrong? What happened? Puck, please talk to me." But he couldn't. Or at least he didn't. The difference seemed not to matter. He rolled onto his side and curled his legs up. Sometimes he woke from nightmares like this, though usually without Quinn stroking the hair of his mohawk.

He would have been fine if he never started trying to "open up" to Quinn. He had managed fine before and could have carried on. But with her help, every little thing that ever bothered him blew into something massive, unbeatable, and unbearable. She hadn't helped him. She had made him worse. Made him broken.

That should have made him angry. Puck sighed into the floral fabric of Quinn's dress and thought about how it didn't make him angry at all.


	63. Kurt: Burn

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song: "The End Complete III: The End Complete" by Coheed & Cambria.

They had a fireplace now.

Even though it was warm outside and Kurt still wore too much clothing to be comfortable in any kind of heat, he sat hugging his knees in front of the fireplace, watching the flames leap around and through the logs he had dragged in from the woodpile outside. He had never been obsessed with fire the way a lot of teenagers seemed to be. He didn't look at it and see a reflection of his soul or his struggle or even an escape. He just saw fire. And he saw what it could burn.

He rested his hand on the coarse black denim of a pair of skinny jeans that topped a pile of clothing beside him on the floor. Kurt ran his fingertips across the fabric, as though he could soak in the texture by feeling it. With a scowl, he jerked his hand back and turned to the fire. It looked big enough now. If he didn't get this done quickly, Kurt wasn't sure he'd be able to do it at all.

 _Just do it._ He made a fist around the denim and lifted it off the neatly-folded stack of all-black clothing. For a moment he stopped, hand raised, jeans dangling toward the floor, breathing in the slow, jagged rhythm of someone who needs to pant but won't let himself. Kurt hurled the jeans into the fire.

They covered the flames for a moment before the fire leapt up, taking hold of the jeans and beginning to burn them. Kurt had hoped it would burn through them faster. At least no one would be home any time soon. Kurt had time. He watched the fire eat through his jeans and set his hand down on the next garment: a turtleneck sweater.

The sweater had not been in the first batch of clothes from Robin. This one came after Kurt started cooperating. Robin had called it a present. He had smirked as he held it out, almost like an offering to the defenseless, naked boy on the bed. Kurt's stomach flipped thinking about how he had looked at that smirking face and thought it handsome. He had learned not to mind the scar or the crooked nose. He had learned not to mind the way Robin never asked permission before undressing Kurt. He had even learned to like it.

Kurt took up the whole pile of clothes and shoved them into the flames. He jerked back from the searing heat and stuck his fingers in his mouth to cool them. The fire struggled under the cover of the clothes Robin had given him. But it never died. Kurt smirked as he watched the flames ruin his clothes. He wiped the dampness from his cheeks with the hand he hadn't hurt and told himself he wasn't sad. There was just smoke stinging his eyes. He wasn't allowed to be sad about Robin Banks.

But then instead of a smirk, Kurt's memory pulled up his last sight of Robin's face: pale except for the blood staining his lips, eyes rolled back in his head, mouth propped open by the shirt Kurt had shoved into it. Kurt bolted for the kitchen. He barely reached the trash can before puking up what little he'd had for lunch. When his stomach settled, Kurt washed his mouth out with water from the tap.

He had thought the burning might help but felt no less scared than he had today when he walked into the choir room for the first time since October 27, 2010. He thought he would be okay, but then he went to walk past the piano and would have collapsed right there, in the place he stood when he emptied his pockets for Rob, if he hadn't caught himself on the piano. Once he had control of his legs, he had walked to the door he came through that day and stared over at the spot where Rob had seemed almost to materialize when he came out of hiding and called Kurt by name. Kurt had puked then too. Finn didn't know why Kurt had decided to skip glee practice.

He closed his eyes, leaning back against the wall. It didn't matter that the wall could support him. Kurt still inched down it until he sat on the floor, head resting against the wall. If he had opened his eyes, he'd be looking at the ceiling. Instead, he stared at the backs of his eyelids. Funny how much they looked like a fresh corpse.

It had been a long time since this happened to him. Well, sometimes he still saw Robin while he slept, but usually he was fine so long as he was awake. If by "fine" he meant dressed in clothes Robin had given him as though by wearing them he could feel Robin's hands on his skin one last time. This time Kurt didn't vomit. Instead, he reached his hand forward and traced the ghost image of the words he had carved into another man's flesh. _The death of Kurt Hummel._

He flinched away from the red letters, from the image of Robin Banks. Kurt opened his eyes and stared at the tile of the kitchen floor. He remembered how lost he felt then and scowled because he didn't feel any more like he'd found himself now.

Kurt wasn't supposed to come back from that. He was supposed to disappear, become someone else. Someone who could handle a heart full of hatred and pain and murder. Kurt Hummel had never been that kind of person. Or, at least, he had never wanted to be. _I guess I am now,_ he thought, rubbing his hands up and down his arms as if he were cold.

Some part of Kurt had believed that burning the clothes from Robin would sever his ties to the dead man. He didn't want to think about Rob anymore. He didn't want to wake up crying from what was either a nightmare or a wet dream. Most of all, he didn't want to be a murderer. But as soon as he thought about it, he always saw Wayne, Jack, Kitty, and Robin. Corpses lined up in a row for his memory's amusement and his consciousness' agony. None of them had believed Kurt would do it any more than Kurt had. Wayne had thought himself the dangerous one. Jack had begged for Kurt to save him, had probably expected Kurt to stand up to Robin, or maybe just hoped for it. Kitty and Robin hadn't believed it even when Kurt had a gun pointed at them. Robin spent all that time making Kurt into a killer and never thought he had succeeded.

Kurt stood with a bitter laugh and turned back to the den. He shouldn't leave the fire unattended. He clenched his hands into fists and felt his nails digging into his skin. He would have to trim them soon.

The thought was so mundane compared to the memory of a gun's recoil as he put a bullet in Kitty's brain that Kurt laughed again. It was an ugly laugh, one he was glad no one else heard. For a long time now, Kurt had avoided thinking of any of these things. He had thought that meant he was getting better, moving away from them. Maybe he had just been hiding. He'd certainly been hiding them from everyone else, so why not himself too?

Well, because he always remembered—

But he never thought about—

But it's not like he didn't know—

But he really didn't want to know. He wanted to forget. He wished he could forget. Even though he couldn't forget, Kurt had managed the next best thing: pretending he had moved on. Yes, that's right, move along, all is well here, he wasn't the monster Robin had made of him. Not at all.

Kurt dropped heavily to the floor in front of the fire again. He grabbed the poker and adjusted the logs and remnants of cloth a bit to keep the fire going strong. Then again, maybe he should let it die out. The room was getting overheated. It didn't matter either way. Kurt put the poker back and moved to sit in the armchair facing the fire.

The room felt quiet despite the cracking and hissing of the fire eating away at its fuel. Kurt had learned more and more what hid behind silence as time passed. Gunshots and screams mostly. Every once in a while, a soft sigh in Robin's voice. Kurt had learned even to sleep with music or white noise. The fire should have been enough.

Kurt idly wondered if he'd taken his medicine only to remember he wasn't supposed to anymore. He barked out a short, bitter sound that he shouldn't have thought of as a laugh. The fire burned, but Kurt could still see his clothes in it. He opened his mouth to fight off the silence and found lyrics from a CD Puck had lent him on his tongue.

_No words to say  
The worst displayed  
What once was courage is now cursed in the hurt we've made  
We are the sinners, before our graves  
_

He'd done it before, but had never gotten used to singing in this genre. It felt strange in his mouth, but not so ill-fitting that he stopped. It could feel right, he knew, given enough time. Already parts of it fit. He sang lower than usual, but it didn't feel like a lie the way Pink Houses had. It felt like a truth forced out through his throat and leaving him raw.

_Now leave in peace  
The dead unsaved  
A World still turning down the path of the end complete  
Now spite me, jury, We've come for change  
_

Kurt had never "felt something break inside him." It was the sort of thing he read about happening or heard described by sad, overdone characters who thought it made their weeping okay. Staring into the flames and singing, he realized it felt more like burning than breaking. Something had started up inside him from the moment he fired at Wayne Garcia, and it had slowly begun to consume him until it became the thing that defined him. It burned him away, and he couldn't come back from that any more than his smoldering clothes could. But still a little hallow in the back of his mind echoed back the words, _I should have saved him,_ and _I should have spared them._

_Dig deeper  
Remember all you've been and all you've left behind  
Wave goodbye, my dear  
Dig deeper  
Remember all you've been and all you've left behind  
Welcome home, my dear_

Kurt wanted to reach into the flames and save what Robin had given him. He shouldn't have done it. He should have hesitated a little longer, just long enough to change his mind. But then, he couldn't really be rid of what Robin had given him. His fingers traced the long scar along his throat even though he thought about much more than things people could see.

_No one will ever know_

_No one will ever know_

The room stank of smoke. Clothes smoke, not wood smoke. Kurt watched the fire and waited. It would die down eventually if he stopped feeding it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to Nicole/nikkithedead/carlathezombie for helping me think of Kurt burning his clothes.


	64. Puck: Moments From Caving In

Puck hadn't gone to school today. He hadn't even gotten out of bed until after two. Once he got up, he only made it as far as the toilet before turning back to drop back on his bed. Maybe he'd have more energy if he ate breakfast (or lunch, or whatever came between lunch and dinner... the American version of tea time maybe), but he couldn't bring himself to care. He went to school yesterday. That was good enough to cover staying home today.

There was a text from Quinn pulled up on his phone. Puck held it up in front of his face, staring at it without really reading it. She just wanted to know if he was okay. He had already typed in, _I'm fine, babe_ , but he didn't hit send. Quinn liked to tell Puck how damn good he was at lying to himself. Still not good enough though. He knew he wasn't okay, and he shouldn't lie to Quinn.

Even without knowing just what was wrong, Puck could tell there was something. He knew all the little signs Quinn would point out if she could see him right now, starting with how much he just wanted to do absolutely nothing for as long as possible. His stomach growled.

"Fine," Puck snarled at it. He didn't care that his stomach couldn't hear him. He just wanted something to be angry at, even if just for a moment. Puck swung his legs off the bed and stood, pushing himself up with a hand on his old but sturdy nightstand. Once he was standing, he pulled open the top drawer of the nightstand. He didn't want anything. It was just a habit. Puck kept his watch and his weed in there beside his condoms, a pen, and Kurt's pocketknife. Puck had already reached a hand toward his watch before he remembered he didn't need to put it on.

He grabbed the knife instead. Yesterday's jeans lay on the floor with his belt still through the loops and his wallet still in the back pocket. Puck sniffed at them and decided them smelled fine, so he shoved the knife into the front pocket and pulled the jeans on over his boxers. Then he made his way to the kitchen, already sure he didn't feel like making anything. It wasn't really enough, but he poured himself a bowl of cereal and pretended he didn't want a hamburger. It was hard to get a kosher hamburger in Lima anyway.

He ate slowly because he didn't feel like eating so much as he felt like shutting up his stomach. His fingers found their way into his pocket to rest against Kurt's knife. Puck still remembered the day he found it, the day Kurt was taken. He hadn't understood at first. No one had. They hadn't wanted to.

Puck opened the blade, staring at the way light reflected off it without paying it much attention. Kurt must have cleaned it after... after he killed Robin Banks with it. Puck himself had cleaned it regularly after taking it from Kurt even though he never used it for anything. It still felt dirty. Sometimes when he looked at it, Puck saw flashes of dark, dark red. He wondered if this was what it was like to be Ms. Pillsbury, only it would be everywhere and not quite so bloody. She must feel so helpless, trapped in a filthy world and unable to make it clean.

Puck felt helpless.

More than that, he felt useless. Nothing he did from the moment he found the pocketknife in the choir room had done any good. He went to save Kurt, and Kurt had to save Puck. He convinced Kurt to come home, but only because Kurt wanted to anyway. He tried to be there for Kurt. He got in the way and had only a scar on his arm to show for it. Kurt didn't need him. Kurt never had. No one needed Puck. It wasn't just Kurt he failed. He never even tried to help his mom out. The others in glee club sometimes said Puck did a lot for them because he helped "when it counted," but what the fuck did that even mean? It meant he did jack shit most of the time. And the first thing he had ever really wanted to try at had been a worse failure than going after Kurt because Puck couldn't exactly chase down his dad.

He dropped his spoon into his bowl and turned his arm to look at the scar. If it would help, Puck would gladly let Kurt give him a few more, but it wouldn't. As much as Puck wanted to finally do something right, he couldn't. Hurting Puck had only made Kurt hate himself more. Puck never cared about getting hurt. Maybe he should have. But maybe Quinn was right when she said he felt so much for Kurt because he was scared to feel for himself. Or maybe she spent too much time online trying to "diagnose" him.

It didn't matter anymore since he felt as close to nothing now as he'd ever managed. Emptiness and weight didn't seem like they fit together, but that was what he felt. Like he had a hollow chest and a giant rock on his back. Like he was moments from caving in. Like everything he ever did to fill that hole inside him had only helped empty it in the end.

He ran his thumb over the puckered skin of his scar. It wasn't the first he'd had—Puck had never led a particularly sedentary life. It was the only scar it ever hurt to look at. Now it felt less painful than heavy, but it was there. He transferred the knife to his left hand and pressed it against the scar. This was the blade Kurt had used to cut him. The same blade he had used to kill Robin Banks. The one Kurt left behind. The one Puck brought with him to "rescue" Kurt. The one Puck pulled from Kurt's pocket while Kurt tried to fight him off.

It was unclean. Puck had washed the pocketknife last night, but he could feel how dirty it was. The tip of the blade pressed against the scarred skin until it broke through. The original cut had been deep. It had bled heavily and hurt like a bitch. Now Puck traced it lightly. He went back to the beginning and followed the scar again, deeper this time. Still, it hardly bled compared to the original cut.

"Fuck."

Puck more than dropped the knife. He hurled it across the room right into his mom's fancy flower vase. The vase fell with a crash when it hit the tile floor. A chunk of it broke off, leaving behind a gash only partly covered by flowers. Water leaked out of the gash and cracks, spreading out over the floor.

"Fuck," Puck groaned again. He stumbled to the sink to wash his arm and watched his blood pour down the drain trying not to think about why he was bleeding. He closed his eyes. Maybe he could wake up and realize everything since last October had been some weird, crazy-person nightmare. But no, even Puck's mind wasn't twisted enough to make this shit up. If it were Puck's nightmare, he'd be the one hurt most, not Kurt.

He grabbed a dish towel and hoped his arm wouldn't bleed too much while he cleaned up the floor. His mom had a cheap old vase that he moved the flowers into, and he set the pieces of the broken vase on the table. Should he try to fix it? He couldn't hide it. Should he call his mom or wait for her to come home? The knife still lay on the floor where it had fallen after hitting the vase. Puck wiped the blood off on his jeans and shoved the knife in his pocket.

No, he had to hide it. His eyes drifted down to his arm. His mom would notice. Quinn would notice. Kurt would notice. Hell, even Mr. Schue and Finn would probably pick up on it. But he hadn't cut it deeply, and there was already a scar there. It wasn't so bad. He could wear long sleeves... no he couldn't. It was still fucking summer even if school had started.

Puck went back to his room and grabbed his phone. Quinn had texted again to tell him not to ignore her. He erased, _I'm fine, babe_ , and replaced it with, _I just cut myself._ Then he dropped the phone on the bed without sending again.

His chest felt tight now, like a cramped space full of lightning. It wasn't empty anymore. He pulled Kurt's pocketknife from his jeans and held it up in front of him. He opened it, studied the blade, and closed it again. The dirtiness didn't bother him so much as it had.

One of the floorboards under his bed was loose. Puck used to hide cans of beer there before he realized he could just take his mom's from the fridge. He hid the knife there now. Kurt wasn't the only one who could hoard tools; Puck had a swiss army knife that he shoved in his pocket to replace the hidden blade. Then he traced a finger along the cut on his arm. It came away red, and Puck wiped it on his jeans.

Puck picked up his phone and added, _I think I might do it again._ He hit send.


	65. Kurt: If Not for You

Strando's continued survival at this point proved that Kurt had come a long way from the boy who killed Robin and then hid out in Meg's apartment instead of going home. Kurt wondered why no one else saw it that way. Just because he stood up for himself against some overweight moron who tried to push him around didn't make Kurt unstable or a danger to anyone. Oh he was dangerous, no doubt. He'd only recently realized that in full, but just because he _could_ kill didn't mean he was going to ever again.

Most of the student body had learned to stay clear of him. Hell, even Dave Karofsky turned the other way when he saw Kurt coming down the hall. Strando was clearly the stupid one though, and stupid seemed pretty damn contagious at William McKinley.

"So we don't want your little fag ass infecting our school with the gay any more, you got that?" Strando finished what Kurt had dubbed his obligatory villainous monologue. He probably had expected Kurt to listen to that.

"Sorry, I lost track around the part about sneaking into the locker room. Maybe you could write it down for me this time?" There. That wasn't violent or even angry. In fact, Kurt felt downright _sassy._ He'd almost forgotten how great it was to act superior to everyone instead of just imagining them with their faces smashed in. Except now there was a fist hovering just in front of his face and a jock behind it spouting out something he probably meant to be threatening.

Kurt rolled his eyes. "Okay, meathead, do me a favor. Picture yourself in your mind. Now picture a man convicted of robbery who afterward managed to stay on the run for _years_ despite pretty much everyone knowing him for a kidnapper, rapist, serial killer, and all around criminal jackass. Who the fuck do you think is scarier? Now I want you to keep in mind which of you has tried to beat me down and failed so completely he can't even come to his own line-ups anymore." It was shorter than Strando's own speech had been, but Kurt still got the feeling he lost his audience in there somewhere.

"You don't scare me." Oh, good, Strando had heard part of it at least.

Kurt bared his teeth in the most sadistic grin he knew how to make. "I should."

The pain erupted like a firework behind Kurt's eyes, shooting from both sides of his head as Strando's fist connected just below Kurt's left eye and the lockers slammed him from behind as his head shot back. Kurt didn't bother trying to see after that. He just shot his leg out to where he remembered Strando's balls being and knew he'd hit by the howl of pain that followed. The lockers supported Kurt's weight well enough that he didn't fall. He glared out at the other jocks as his vision returned. He didn't know their names, just that they were on the football team.

He had already begun planning how to slash at the eye of the one on the left to distract him and let Kurt make a run for it before he realized he couldn't use his knife here. One of them might try to help Strando though. These were high school kids, not hardened criminals. _What does that make me then?_ Kurt set aside the thought for when he had time for philosophy. What mattered was: these guys were friends, and if they checked on their friend, that would give Kurt an opening. He just had to be ready for it.

There. One of them leaned forward and asked, "Dude, are you okay?"

Before he finished speaking, Kurt darted away from him. He'd wanted to go the other way, toward the parking lot, but this would lead him to the choir room. Glee club wouldn't start for ten minutes, but a few people usually showed up early. Then again, he didn't hear footsteps behind him, so maybe Kurt had gotten away this time.

"Kurt, wait!" It wasn't the voice he expected to chase after him, so for a moment Kurt couldn't place it. "Kurt!" The second time he had it though. Quinn. He slowed and turned in time to see Quinn come around a different corner than he had. There was no sign of the jocks. "Kurt what happened to your eye?"

Kurt reached up and felt at his eyes. He flinched away from the touch and knew by the pain it had bruised. "It got bored and decided to try a new color." He continued on before Quinn had a chance to push further. "What did you want?"

She held up her phone. For a moment Kurt arched an eyebrow at her, but he turned to the phone when she didn't say more. It was a text from Puck.

 _I just cut myself,_ it said. _I think I might do it again._

What?

From Puck. Why would Puck say that? Kurt's mind grasped at nothing until it finally returned with the question Kurt should have asked: why would Puck dothat? Only after he thought it and realized he had whispered it aloud did Kurt really grasp that Puck had hurt himself. On purpose. And apparently found something in it that he wanted to find more of because why else would he already know it would happen again?

"Well, my guess would be you, Kurt." Quinn finally lowered the phone to put her hands on her hips. "Which is why you're coming with me."

"I... what?" Everything had been going so well. Sure, Kurt had a black eye, but he hadn't even reached for a knife to remove one of Strando's. He went to class and paid attention instead of just searching for escape routes. He even went to glee club yesterday without Finn having to drag him. Puck hadn't been there for glee though. He went home as soon as classes let out.

"I could probably talk him down. Eventually. But I have to go slowly with Puck." Quinn grabbed Kurt's arm and started walking him toward the parking lot as she spoke. He hoped they wouldn't pass the jocks on their way. That could be awkward. "But as much as you've mostly used it to hurt him, you can have an almost instant effect on him. So I need you."

"What are you talking about?"

Quinn rounded on Kurt before thinking better of it and beginning to walk again. When she spoke, her voice was so tightly controlled Kurt could only believe that Quinn wanted nothing more than to scream at him. "I still don't know what you said to him because he won't tell me. It was about the song we did to be _nice_ , which I guess you wouldn't understand." She took a deep breath. "He was a mess after you left. Puck cried himself to sleep. He never cries, even his mom says so, but he cried because of you."

"So I made Puck cry, and now everything he does is my fault?" Kurt had no problem talking to Puck. He wanted to go to Puck as badly as Quinn did. He just... didn't want to go _with Quinn._ He hated being around her. She was the reminder that when people found out any of what he'd done, they would never forgive him. Most people weren't like Puck. Most people were more like Quinn. Or Strando and his friends. Or Karofsky who avoided the issue, and Kurt, altogether.

"You did a hell of a lot more than that Kurt, and we both know it."

Kurt didn't have anything to say to that.

Quinn drove since Kurt still wasn't supposed to. His license had never been revoked or anything. His parents and psychologists just believed driving was dangerous and stressful enough that he had only been behind a wheel a few times, and always with Burt in the passenger seat, since returning home. Kurt didn't mind as much as he originally thought he would. Kurt texted Finn from the car to let him know he was with Quinn.

Then he tried to think of what he could say to Puck. "I'm sorry," and, "I thought you noticed I was having a bad day and have been a lot better since then," didn't sound like they'd cut it. He wondered if Quinn was right, if he had driven Puck to this. Fuck, of course he had. Kurt remembered Finn claiming Puck had a lot more going on than just Kurt. But Kurt also remembered watching something fall away from Puck when he confronted him after the New Directions performed "No One Is Alone" for him. He doubted Puck fully understood some of what Kurt had said, but he didn't need to. Puck understood enough.

And if Kurt saw Puck as so much like Kitty, why hadn't he ever thought he could break Puck as surely as Robin had broken Kitty? It had taken Kurt a long time to realize why Kitty was so devoted to a man who treated her so poorly. He wondered if Quinn was thinking the same thing about him and Puck right now. It made him feel out of place in his own skin to think of himself like that. It made him feel dirty.

Quinn pulled into Puck's driveway a little too fast and slammed on the brakes. She slammed her car door shut before Kurt even had his seatbelt off. With a deep breath, Kurt got out of the car and followed. Quinn was worried about Puck, but Kurt was worried about what he'd done to Puck. He shouldn't have been thinking about himself. He still did.

He found them in Puck's bedroom, sitting on the bed. Puck's arm was already bandaged, and Quinn was studying it and holding him at the same time. When Kurt walked in, Puck's eyes widened in what could have been shock, fear, or both.

"I didn't tell you so you could tell everyone else." The words were for Quinn, but his eyes stayed on Kurt.

"I know. I only told Kurt." She pulled her hand away from Puck's bandage and motioned to it while Puck's eyes stayed on Kurt. If she were a telepath, Quinn still couldn't have said, 'See, Kurt, it is your fault,' any more clearly. The bandage covered where Kurt had attacked Puck before, covered it exactly. Puck had cut himself where Kurt had cut him. Kurt felt sick.

Kurt walked over to the bed, a little shocked by how steady he still moved. He sat beside Puck and stared at his own hands. There was nothing he could say. His eyes drifted to Puck's arm, to the bandage on it.

"Did you use it?" Kurt hadn't believed he would speak until the question fell from his lips.

"What?" The confusion in Puck's voice sounded genuine.

"The same one I did."

"Oh." It might not be enough for Quinn to catch on. She probably still believed Burt had taken the knife Kurt cut Puck with. Puck clenched and loosened his fist a few times. Kurt focused on his hand, afraid to look at Puck's face. "Yes."

"Where is it?" How long could he keep this up? Talking to Puck without looking at him. It felt like something a soap opera character would do. Or Rachel Berry.

"You can't have it."The ferocity of Puck's voice startled Kurt. Puck had turned, and now Kurt felt his friend's eyes on him. He knew he had to answer them and looked up slowly. Puck didn't look angry, but he didn't look ready to give in to anyone's demands either. Kurt had seen that look in the mirror before and never thought he could find it on anyone else's face. It made him wonder how long and how hard he had been pushing Puck without bothering to notice.

"What can't he have?" Of course Quinn couldn't stay out of it.

"Nothing." Kurt and Puck answered together.

Quinn raised an eyebrow. "Really. Nothing? A nothing so important it's the first thing Kurt asked you about?"

"It's not mine, Quinn. I can't just... give it away." Puck avoided her eyes. Was it worth losing it to Quinn for Kurt to get his pocketknife away from Puck?

"Then whose is it?"

Was it worth it? That should have been an easier question. Puck was Kurt's friend. The knife was just a piece of metal. But sometimes his fingers still itched for it, especially now that he'd burned his clothes. "Mine."

"Tell me."

"But..." But he could lose it. Would lose it. Even now, it was safe with Puck, even if Kurt couldn't quite get at it.

"No, I don't care. Stop thinking about yourself for one second, and tell me what you two are trying to hide." Quinn looked not so much ready to rip him apart with her bare hands as able to tear him to pieces with her mind. Sometimes Kurt forgot that Quinn had a temper, but then, she hated him, didn't she?

"A pocketknife."

"A knife? Puck is holding a knife for you." She turned her eyes to Puck, suddenly shifting from raging to sad. "And you cut yourself with it?"

Puck looked down at his hands. Kurt kept his eyes on Quinn.

"It's the knife I killed Robin banks with. And the one I used when I hurt Puck."

Quinn didn't bother saying Burt took that from him or that he shouldn't have kept it around. Instead, she turned back to Puck and demanded, "Give it to me."

"No." Puck did look at her this time.

"Then give it to Kurt."

"I can't. It's..." Puck opened his mouth as if to continue but closed it instead.

"It's bad for him? Gee, I wonder why. Might it be bad for you too?" Fuck, but she sounded like a bitch. Well, she was angry, probably more so at Kurt than at Puck. Kurt got bitchy when he was angry sometimes too. That felt like a weird thought to have, but Kurt didn't spare any thought to figure out why.

"Give it to Quinn." It almost hurt to say it. He had already begun planning how to get it back from Quinn, or at least ways to convince her to keep it quiet.

"I took it from you, Kurt. That sounds to me like you get no say in what I do with it." But Puck sounded desperate, unsure. He didn't know what to do. In a way, that was good for Kurt and Quinn. If they both drove him to give up the knife, they could wear him down.

At the same time, it was anything but good for Puck. Confidence had always been a part of Puck, even when it was a bluff. He knew who he was and what he wanted. That was part of why kids at school feared or looked up to him. And somehow, Kurt had taken that away from him. He let himself be frightened into making a _calculated_ move against Puck instead of just throwing a fit in the moment. Kurt had looked back on what Robin did to him and used it against Puck. One time too many maybe. Or maybe it was just that he succeeded this time. Kurt had left Puck's room and not even thought twice about what he did and said. It had seemed like such a little thing, a way to show Puck that Kurt was angry. It had obviously been a lot more than that to Puck though.

"I'm sorry."

"What for?" Kurt realized then he had left the track of their conversation behind.

"For letting you think you never helped me." Because that had to be it. Puck _knew_ about Rob. He knew Kurt's feelings for him and how much Kurt had taken away from Robin. He even seemed to have an idea that most of that would stay with Kurt for the rest of his life. Puck was the only one who seemed to get that, so Kurt had seen no problem highlighting it. But he had as good as ripped the stitches out of a gaping wounds and let it bleed again just for Puck to see. Puck wanted to help him make the pain scar over, not to dance in the blood and relish all the ways Kurt would never be like other people. "Because you did, you know. If not for you, I'd be helping Robin hold up a bank right now. Or watching the door of a warehouse for him while he did only I know what to a nice girl he picked up in a dark parking lot. Or worse."

They didn't ask what he thought would be worse. No doubt they thought he meant getting raped. But he was thinking of Jack, not of what Rob had done to Kurt but of what he made Kurt do to someone else. Maybe Puck knew what Kurt meant. Maybe he thought Kurt meant both. Well, maybe Kurt did.

"I didn't save you."

"You didn't rescue me, Puck. But you sure as fuck saved me." Kurt felt the panic and the pressure behind his eyes that meant he wanted to cry. He knew he wouldn't, not with Quinn here, but he felt like it.

"You know even if I give it to you, that doesn't mean I won't—" He stopped abruptly, like he'd been cut off, but he just couldn't say it. Kurt had been surprised he managed to even send it as a text.

"I know." Kurt took Puck's hand.

"Then why bother?"

Kurt had no answer, but Quinn did. "Because it's a place to start."

Puck chuckled, but there was no humor in it. "It that enough?"

"No." Maybe Kurt should have hesitated.

"But it doesn't have to be," Quinn said, and Kurt knew she was right. Puck wasn't going to wake up tomorrow feeling like everything was right in the world no matter what they did now. But they could at least do this much.

"Please, Puck." Kurt squeezed Puck's hand.

When Puck pulled his hand away, Kurt almost panicked. But Puck turned and knelt on the floor to reach under his bed. Kurt and Quinn waited. After a moment, Puck rose, holding the knife. Kurt lurched for it but jerked himself back before he touched it. He wanted it too badly. It almost hurt.

"Give it to Quinn."

Puck hesitated. He finally handed it over with the air of a man stretching his neck out beneath the blade of a guillotine. Quinn took it quickly, but her expression became increasingly unsure as she held it. Eventually she dropped it into her purse, but they all knew that wasn't enough. They also knew it didn't have to be.


	66. Strando: A Coward

He wasn't a coward. Sometimes his dad called him that, but it wasn't true. He hated that his friends started calling him a coward now too. If they were so brave, why didn't they face Kurt Hummel and the fucking claws he had for fingernails. Well, they didn't, did they? They were the cowards who settled for doing nothing. Karofsky was the worst of the lot. When Strando noticed he hadn't said anything, he asked the guy for help and got shot down. _That_ was cowardice: inaction.

Sure Strando had gotten the hell away from the fag, but at least he was man enough to admit he'd gotten in too deep and had needed out. He watched his teammates run away only to deny it all the time. Usually all they ran from was girls. Strando had a mental patient on his hands. Hummel was literally unstable.

Hudson hated to hear about it though. He wanted Hummel to be fine, so he wanted everyone to pretend like he already was. That wasn't how it worked though. Hummel needed help and a padded fucking room where he couldn't hurt anyone. Strando wouldn't be surprised if the guy hurt himself too. He seemed the type. Now that he thought about it, Karofsky wasn't the worst. The glee guys were, especially Hudson. They acted like throwing a slushie was a sign of cowardice. Strando tried to tell them that was just the way it worked around here. They used to know that.

He wasn't a coward, and today he would prove it. His determination must have shown on his face because wherever he walked through the halls, people got out of his way. Some of them sent him sidelong looks. He knew what they meant but didn't care because they would stop after today, after he set things straight.

Strando didn't remember much about his mother. She wasn't dead, but she wasn't around anymore either. The one thing he did remember was what she taught him about cowards. Strando was always afraid as a kid. He was fat and slow, and the other kids were mean and fast. He spent every day terrified they would chase him down and beat him with sticks. They never did, but he saw it happen in a movie once and knew that that was just what happened in the world: the fat kid was too slow, so he got beaten with sticks. When he finally told his mom why he didn't want to go play outside, she had told him that didn't make him a coward. Everyone was afraid. Cowards were just the people who didn't do anything about it. Run away or face it, it didn't matter, just so long as he didn't freeze up and stop living his life because of it.

So, yeah, he was afraid Hummel would tear his face off and eat it, but he wouldn't let that stop him. First he had run away because retreat was a tactical decision. It happened in war movies all the time. Now he had a plan, and it was time to set it in motion.

If Hummel had just taken the slushie that first day, none of this would have to happen now. But he had fought back again and again, and Strando couldn't change the past anymore than he could change that Hummel was a gay nutcase. What he could do was take a stand. He was in the top tier at McKinley. He was on the football team. Singing and dancing fags didn't get to push him around, and this time, Strando would be ready for retaliation. He wasn't a scared little fat kid anymore. He was a big guy, yeah, but more of it was muscle now, and he knew he could take anything a scrawny thing like Hummel could throw at him so long as he was ready for it. He nodded as though he'd been trying to convince himself. It was weird, he realized, but no one seemed to have noticed. Or if they did, it didn't change the way they looked at him.

There he was. Kurt Hummel. Hudson walked with him, but Strando knew it wouldn't matter. He had chosen something no one would be able to block once it was in place. It had been expensive, but so worth it. Strando couldn't wait to see the look on Hummel's face.

Right now, Hummel was smiling and laughing, the bruise around his eye only faintly visible under a thick layer of makeup. He was such a fucking fag to wear makeup; a real man would own up to the bruise. Hudson leaned against the locker beside Hummel's, turned to talk to him as Hummel worked open the lock.

Then the shrieking started.

It sounded like Hummel was dying. Hudson and some others, mostly girls by their voices, who had been nearby screamed too. People started running away, but Strando wasn't worried. The huge piles of crawling black creatures that had fallen out of Hummel's locker to cover him and the floor around him were only crickets. Strando had considered cockroaches or spiders, but crickets were easier to get since they were used to feed lizards or something.

Hummel began flailing his arms and legs, slapping at himself to remove the bugs. By the way he kept spitting, Strando guessed at least one must have fallen into his mouth when he opened the locker. Strando laughed. Hummel looked fucking ridiculous. Even better, Hudson was trying to help him now. He kept slapping at Hummel's back and hair, and he even accidentally squashed a few into Hummel's shirt.

Strando stepped up close enough to be heard but far enough out that the only crickets near him were those already on their way away from Hummel.

"Scared of a few little crickets, Hummel?" If the guys asked, Strando wouldn't admit to it because it wasn't cool, but he'd spent nearly an hour last night thinking up just what to say. He wanted to make sure he was witty.

"You," Hummel hissed. Most of the bugs were off him and hopping away by now. One landed on Strando's pant leg, but he ignored it. "You did this."

Strando scoffed, but he made sure to exaggerate it so they would know he was misleading them when he said, "Now, how could I have done that?"

Hummel looked ready to shout, but Hudson cut him off. "Dude, what the hell is wrong with you?"

"With _me?"_ Hummel was the one with a problem.

"You know Kurt's been through hell, so why can't you just leave him alone liked a decent human being. He never did anything to deserve this." Hudson advanced toward Strando as he spoke, so Strando stood up straighter for his reply.

"He defied the natural order. We have one for a reason. There's a way things are supposed to be, and if they're not, we're supposed to fix them. And he wasn't supposed to hit me either." Fight back. Strando was supposed to have said "fight back." Whining that Hummel hit him made him sound like a girl, damn it. He cursed his memory for forgetting and hoped he would do better for the rest.

Hummel was smiling, but in a weird kill you while you sleep sort of way. "You don't like people to hit you, Strando?" The tone of his voice said things were not going to go Strando's way.

"Of course not. I'm not like you, homo." There. It accused Hummel of being some kind of freak and also set Strando apart from him. He was proud of himself for thinking of it in the heat of the moment like that.

"Original." Was that sarcastic? "But I think I get it now," That was definitely not sarcastic. "You want to be hurt in other ways. Sharper ways maybe? Deeper ways? Because clearly you have a death wish."

"And you have a cricket on your ear."

Hummel jerked his hand up to swat it away. Strando took the chance to reach down and take one of the crickets in his hand. He cupped his fingers around it so it could not escape, but not so tightly it would be crushed. "You don't really want to lose your little friends now do you?" He tossed it into Hummel's face and laughed as he screamed and swatted at his own face to get the bug away.

Strando turned away from them. He had told himself not to drag this out or they might turn it against him. He held up one hand as if to wave behind him and said, "Later." He felt like a fucking badass doing it. Hudson called after him, but didn't follow. He had to help Hummel with his cricket problem. Strando laughed. His business with Kurt Humell was done, and better yet, he'd proven he wasn't a coward.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to my friend Max for helping me think of the locker thing! He'll never see this, but I still want to give him credit. :P
> 
> I know I sort of ruined Strando's character in a way, but he only appeared briefly in canon and had no development. I don't know if they even said his name on the show at all, so… I don't feel bad for using him like this. Besides it was sort of a fun exercise to be honest. *kanyeshrug*


	67. Kurt: Afraid of Myself

It hadn't been this awkward between Puck and Kurt in a long time. No, that wasn't right. It had _never_ been this awkward between them, not even when Puck first joined glee club or when Kurt was still going by Alex. They had sat, or even lain, together on Kurt's bed countless times since Kurt came home. It had never felt so strange before. Oh, it had been plenty wrong and terrifying the time Kurt tried to fuck Puck, and it had been strange whenever Kurt tried to hit on him, but Puck had always shrugged everything off before. How much it affected Puck now was what scared Kurt the most.

He had flinched when Kurt sat down beside him today.

But Puck had come to Kurt's house, to Kurt's bedroom, on his own. Even after Kurt startled him, Puck had asked Kurt to stay on the bed and had stayed himself as well. Neither of them knew what to say anymore. Not even the denials they used to both fall back on remained now. Kurt almost wished he could still lie to Puck, just to have something to say.

At least Quinn wasn't there. Kurt had slowly learned to hate Quinn. They had never been friends, but he never used to dream about slitting her pretty little throat before either. He shook his head to push the thought away. He didn't have time for that sort of thing anymore. He needed to be the strong one now because Puck couldn't.

"I'm sorry," Kurt said. He wasn't sure how many times he'd said it already. It seemed those words were the only ones he had left.

"Yeah, me too." Puck glanced away from his hands to Kurt and seemed almost to smile before looking down again. But then his eyes were back on where his hands rested limply in his lap, and his shoulders hunched forward like he could form a cocoon with his hands at its center.

The silence returned then. They used to have comfortable silences, where they just stopped talking because they didn't need to say anything. Now they needed to say so much, and Kurt didn't know how. He wasn't good with people anymore, and when he thought about it, he had never been great with Puck. They were teammates, but not friends. How had they ever become friends? They were strangers with a single hobby in common. He had tried asking before why Puck was the one who felt he had to go after Kurt. Of the people in glee, only the cheerios seemed less likely to have cared so much about Kurt. Except Brittany, she cared about everyone in her own way, but definitely not in a chase-after-a-serial-killer kind of way.

"I burned the clothes I had from Robin," he said instead of all the things he was thinking.

"Is that bad for the fireplace?"

Kurt chuckled. "I don't know. Probably. I thought my dad was going to explode."

"Dude, he almost didn't let me in." Puck glanced up again, this time for a little longer. "Be sneakier next time or something."

"Thanks, Puck. I didn't know how bad the smell would be… or how long it would last because fuck sometimes I still think I catch a whiff." Kurt rolled his eyes. He knew they hadn't been talking as much since Puck started spending more time with Quinn, and he was starting to think that could also have been worded as 'since Puck began to work on his own issues.' Maybe that was part of the problem between them. He wondered if it mattered what they talked about. "Hey, Puck," he said, wanting to reach out but not sure he should. "I know I've asked you before, but what the fuck possessed you to chase after me while I was with him?"

"I don't know. I was just sick of not doing anything."

"It can't be just that, Puck. We both know that." Kurt did reach out this time to rest the palm of his hand on Puck's knee. Puck didn't flinch.

"It was like all of our lives just stopped. And I was angry all the time, and I couldn't stop looking up shit on Banks. I thought there was something wrong with me. Maybe there _is._ But the longer you were away, the more I learned about what Banks did to people. I couldn't figure out why I didn't just look away the way everyone else did. They didn't want to know, Kurt. They hated that I kept reminding them, but I couldn't help it. I couldn't look away. He was just so fucking horrible, but there was something in there that was, not art, it was too fucked up for that, but that draws people the way art does. Like a car crash. It's hideous and horrible and painful. But people want to see, Kurt. They want to study the shape of bent and torn metal. They want to watch smoke curl in the air and to soak in the shades of red against the asphalt. But then they turn away because they've passed by it and need to get to work. But I couldn't drive by, and I kept staring; and no one was doing anything anyway, and maybe it just drove me mad."

If Kurt had given a speech like that, he would have been shaking. As much as their pain was the same, it was different, and Kurt didn't know how to deal with any of it, whether it matched his pain or not. He scooted over on the bed so his leg brushed up against Puck's and put his arms around him.

"There's nothing wrong with you, Puck."

Puck moved to put his arms around Kurt too, but he didn't respond. Kurt could guess why.

"Do you remember sophomore year—or freshman year for her—when Tina was obsessed with poems and songs about death?" Kurt asked. "It wasn't because she wanted to die. It was because she was fascinated, because she couldn't look away."

"Do you really think that's the same?"

"Well, she had an advantage in that no one she knew was slowly dying at the time, but yeah, I think it's the same. Less to do with sex that yours, I admit." Kurt smirked a little and nudged Puck with his elbow.

Kurt had never thought he would be able to make Noah Puckerman _blush._ But blush he did, and he even leaned back a little and opened his mouth either in shock or to deny it. "Shut up," he finally said with a pout.

"Oh my God, Puck. Have you turned shy on me?" Kurt teased.

"Dude isn't it enough to talk about that kind of stuff with my girlfriend?"

"Well, yeah, probably," Kurt admitted. "I just miss talking to you, and I'm the one who ruined it, and then…" He stopped, afraid to say it.

"I haven't… haven't done anything like that since." Puck's voice was strangely soft, like he feared to speak of it too loudly. Then he growled. "Fuck, why am I afraid to say it? When you were gone, I was the only one _not_ afraid to say what was going on."

"Maybe it's harder when it's yourself. It's hard for me."

"I'm not you. Not that I've ever actually said it when there was anything wrong with _me_. Back when I was drunk all the time, Mr. Schue pulled me aside to point out that I drive through convenience stores instead of talking about my problems." He chuckled. "I watched his eyebrows dance over his forehead and thought about how stupid he was."

"Sometimes he's stupid. Sometimes he's not." Kurt shrugged. "I find most people are that way."

"Fuck fuck fuck." Puck pushed himself off the bed and started pacing beside Kurt's bed. "I don't want to be so afraid of myself that I can't use the words to describe the things I've done even when I'm with the people I trust most in the world." He whirled toward Kurt and fell to his knees in front of him. Looking directly into Kurt's eyes in a way he hadn't in so long Kurt had nearly forgotten how it felt, Puck took both of Kurt's hands in his. "I…" He took a deep breath and let it out. "I cut myself, Kurt. It made me feel like there was something inside me again, something powerful. I don't always feel… empty, but I did then, and I tried to fill myself up by cutting, and it worked. For a little while, it worked."

"Do you still feel like that sometimes? Empty?" It hadn't been long. Something strong enough to make Puck hurt himself wouldn't just go away so quickly.

"Yes," Puck whispered. He dropped his head into Kurt's lap and cried softly. Kurt leaned down to kiss Puck's hair.

"It's okay. Sometimes I don't feel right in this world either."

"How do you do it, Kurt? How do you feel all the things you do and not hurt yourself so some of it can at least be your own?" Puck's words weren't so muffled that Kurt couldn't hear everything behind them.

"I…" Kurt had been prepared to say, 'I don't know.' He leaned down again and rested his forehead against the back of Puck's head. "I do, just not physically, so maybe I can pretend I don't notice it."

"That's fucked up, dude."

Kurt laughed at hearing again the one thing Puck had always said to him, the one thing no one else had been brave enough to say. Puck laughed too, but not for long. And with his cheeks still wet and his eyes still red, it hardly looked like laughter anyway.


	68. Puck: I Think I'm Falling

He had actually thought he wouldn't do it again. When he thought about what had happened, he remembered the glimmer of the knife in the light of the kitchen most of all, and Quinn and Kurt had taken the knife. Part of him wondered what Quinn had done with it. More of him was afraid what would happen if either he or Kurt ever found out. And if Puck started feeling like nothing he ever did would be worth anything ever again or ever had been in the first place, he thought back on what Kurt had said. He said Puck saved him. Maybe not the way Puck had wanted or expected to, but Puck thought maybe he'd saved Kurt in an even more important way.

He ran his fingers along the strings of his guitar and thought about all the times he didn't cut himself. _Maybe they were enough._ But they weren't, he knew. The clock on the choir room wall sucked at Puck's courage with every tick. He didn't have to do this. There was still time to tell them he'd brought the guitar just for the heck of it or to practice some chords.

 _Even fear is better than nothing,_ he thought and knew he had to go through with it.

Yesterday Puck stayed home from school again. He wasn't sick, but when he turned off his alarm and tried to get out of bed, he just… didn't. Nothing had given him reason to stay in bed, but none of the reasons to get out of bed—food, school, needing to piss—had seemed important enough to make him go to any effort.

His mom found him there when she came home for lunch. At first she was worried; she thought he was sick. Even lying hadn't seemed worth it. Puck just shook his head and said he was fine. Then his mom told him his father had been that way too: too lazy to even get out of the damn bed unless he had a gig to play at. Too lazy to take care of his kids. Too lazy to own up to his responsibilities. Too lazy to be worth the boots he strutted around in. Puck told her that sounded about right, and she left screaming at him about the talk they'd have when she was off work. She had tried to hide the tears in her eyes, but not very well.

Then Puck did get up. Just to use the toilet. But when he was done, his feet carried him to the kitchen instead of his bedroom. He'd thought maybe he was hungry until he dug in a drawer for the little knife his mom used to open plastic packaging and the tape on packages that came in the mail. There were razors in the bathroom, he knew, but somehow it looked more right with something with a handle.

The blade had already broken skin on the inside of his left forearm before Puck bothered to feel anything. But at least he was doing something. At least he could feel something. It didn't have to be pleasant. It just had to be, and it had to be his. As his blood trailed down to drip off his elbow to the laminate kitchen counter, he knew it was all his now.

In the choir room, Puck watched his friends trickle in, in groups of two or three. Most of them walked, sat, talked, and lived in couples. When Quinn arrived, she took the chair beside Puck, and he became a couple too. It should have made him happy. Maybe it did. He couldn't tell anymore.

Kurt arrived with Finn and Rachel. He was laughing. Maybe that made Puck happy too.

Mr. Schue arrived last. He always seemed to be either last or first. Puck guessed it fit best with the way Schuester liked to present assignments. Today, Mr. Schue started with one of his usual, "Okay guys," and moved toward the white board, probably to write the word of the week. But Puck stood up before he could continue.

"Hey, Mr. Schue, I was wondering if I could, uh, before we start…" It wasn't hard to say, just hard to do. He hefted the guitar. "Could I do a song?"

"Of course, Puck. What's the occasion?" At least one thing he could be counted on to do was let his students sing.

Puck shrugged and dragged a stool out to the middle of the floor. Only Quinn and Kurt looked anything but happy to hear him sing. "Nothing. Or just I don't know how to say things so well sometimes." He tried for a smile before realizing there wasn't much point to it given the song he planned to sing. Still, he thought about changing it to a love song for Quinn at the last moment, but by the look on her face she wouldn't believe it. Besides, if he didn't do this now, he wasn't sure he'd ever want to again, and that scared him more than singing a stupid song did. He took a deep breath and played the opening chords.

_Please come now I think I'm falling  
I'm holding on to all I think is safe  
It seems I found the road to nowhere  
And I'm trying to escape_

The confusion started as soon as Puck's song did. Tina turned to Mike for a moment and then back to Puck. The smile slipped from Brittany's face. Sam's lips parted so slowly Puck imagined they didn't stop until the third line did, and now Sam sat staring with his mouth hanging open. Mr. Schue's eyebrows pulled up and together and then into the position they always seemed to stop at when he decided to reach out to a student with a "helpful" talk. Finn whispered something to Kurt who waved him away and then moved the same hand to rub at his suddenly red eyes.

Puck put all the strength he could find into the next line. He wanted them to know he had fought back. Or tried to at least.

_I yelled back when I heard thunder  
But I'm down to one last breath  
And with it let me say  
Let me say_

_Hold me now_   
_I'm six feet from the edge and I'm thinking_   
_Maybe six feet_   
_Ain't so far down_

He knew maybe six feet down could be a grave, but he wasn't going to kill himself. At least he didn't think he was. It was more like he felt a little like he'd already died. He couldn't tell, even staring into all of their faces and watching them watching him, what his friends thought he was singing about. He finally turned his eyes to Quinn. There were tears in her eyes, though her cheeks remained dry.

_Sad eyes follow me  
But I still believe there's something left for me  
So please come stay with me  
'Cause I still believe there's something left for you and me  
For you and me  
For you and me  
_

As he sang, Puck wondered what everyone would have thought if he hadn't claimed this song was something he didn't know how to say with his own words. Maybe they would have thought he just liked it. That was ridiculous; no one had liked Creed since the '90s. They just… he was tired of falling was all. And maybe he needed more help than he'd been willing to admit before.

_Please come now I think I'm falling  
I'm holding on to all I think is safe_

Quinn stood before Puck finished singing. By the time he played the last chord, she was wiping tears from his cheeks that he hadn't felt falling. Great, he'd always wanted to have another breakdown in front of the entire glee club. It would just be _so_ much fun. He still didn't feel like he was crying, but the sarcasm was kind of nice even if he kept it to himself.

Once his tears were dried, Quinn hugged him a bit awkwardly around the guitar. "You're not alone," she whispered into his ear. "We're all here for you."

When Puck saw Kurt drop something metallic and a little shorter than the palm of his hand into the trash bin by the door, he knew Quinn was right. The others crowded in then, and even though it was them he had to share what had happened with, it was Kurt who he watched. He realized Kurt had known it all as soon as he began singing, or maybe sooner.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song here was Creed's "On Last Breath." It came to me via iTunes shuffle.


	69. Kurt: Like They Did

The members of McKinley's glee club had gotten pretty used to sitting around in people's living rooms waiting and hoping but knowing there was nothing left for them to do. Kurt knew he had been the one to do it to them before. He wondered if it had been the same then. Worried eyes darted about, trying to figure out who to look at. Hands wrung in laps, except Brittany's, which she had set to work making Puck a get-well drawing featuring a cat sitting on Puck's head. Its name was Mohawk. Or maybe she thought his Mohawk looked like a cat since he hadn't cut it in a while. The sound of her crayons on paper practically echoed through the room, broken only by the occasional whisper about him. About Puck. Kurt knew by the end they had been able to play games and watch TV in his living room, but in the beginning, had it been like this? And what about when he was still gone? He was afraid to ask.

Puck's mom had offered them drinks and snacks but didn't have enough food in the house to feed everyone dinner. That made Kurt wonder how much money his parents had spent on food in addition to Kurt's medical bills. Sometimes Carol said she missed the ruckus and invited everyone over for an evening, but Kurt thought that might have been more about him and Finn than about Carol actually wanting to deal with so many teenagers and so many appetites.

Kurt fidgeted where he sat on the floor leaning against the wall. From here he could see down the hallway that led to Puck's room. It made him feel closer, like he could reach Puck faster if he needed anything. _Quinn_ was with Puck though. Quinn didn't have to wait in the living room with everyone else while Puck talked with his mother and sister. Quinn was part of the family.

Kurt was not.

For a while longer than he'd been able to admit it, Kurt had considered Puck family. His family had considered Puck family. But they weren't with his family now; they were with Puck's. Kurt barely knew Puck's mother or sister. All he knew about Puck's father was that he was never around. He wondered if his other friends had felt left out like this when he hid away in the basement with Puck. Mercedes had been his best friend before Robin took him. What was she now? Did she feel cast off and unwanted? No, this was Mercedes he was thinking about. If she felt slighted, she would tell him to get his head on straight. Mercedes was too proud to be anyone but herself or to let anyone walk all over her when she knew she deserved better. He smiled thinking about it. That was part of why they'd been such good friends.

Down the hall, Puck's door opened. His mom stepped out, red-eyed. She paused for a moment to take a deep, shaky breath as Puck's sister followed her out. As she approached Kurt, she smiled down at him.

"Kurt," she said, "Noah asked me to send you in"

He didn't wait to hear more. Puck's mom was saying something to the group in the living room as he closed the bedroom door behind him. Quinn was still here, but better here with Quinn than away from Puck altogether.

"Are they overdrawing their sadness accounts again?" Puck asked as Kurt walked into the room.

"Transferring sadness funds to Swiss accounts even." Kurt tried for lighthearted, but even he heard the tension in his voice.

"I didn't expect them all to come over here like that." Puck turned his eyes to his feet self-consciously.

"You mean like they did for Kurt?" Quinn asked, resting a hand on Puck's arm.

For a moment Puck didn't answer. During the pause, Kurt sat down beside Puck on the bed. Quinn gave him a dirty look but said nothing as Kurt laid a hand on Puck's leg.

"Yeah. Like they did for Kurt," Puck said at last.

"They care about you too, Puck." Quinn put her arm around his shoulders and squeezed.

"I know that. I just… they probably need to get home, and Mom doesn't have food for them or anything, so I bet they're hungry." Puck moved as if to look at Quinn while he spoke but then turned away and stared at Kurt's hand on his knee instead.

"They don't mind, you know." She rubbed circles on his back with her left hand while her right reached across to hold his.

"Well I do." He pulled his hand away from hers and hunched forward.

Quinn looked shocked. "Why?" She looked as surprised at what she said as she had at what Puck did, as though the word slipped past without her permission.

Kurt leaned in toward Puck. "You don't have to know what to say to them. I _still_ haven't said anything."

Instead of trying to respond, Puck closed his eyes. Kurt leaned against Puck's side and waited for him as he knew Puck had waited for Kurt so many times already. Holding onto Puck's arm, Quinn leaned against his other side. She kissed his neck softly before resting her head against his shoulder. In a way, Kurt wished he could do the same.

After what felt like a long time, Puck sighed. "My mom thinks I'm depressed."

"Depressed?" It shouldn't have surprised him, he realized, but only after the surprise passed.

"She said she used to be. Back as a teenager and again after… my dad left. And sometimes I guess it can run in families, and she's going to get me a therapist. The talking kind, not the pill kind." His tongue darted out and ran across his lips. "Do you think I'm lucky enough that it's bullshit? I don't want to be… depressed."

"I don't know. But you're not fine. So it's got to be something." Kurt moved his hand to Puck's shoulder and rubbed it in a way he hoped was comforting.

"Something. Yeah." He sounded bitter. "She said she's been worried about this for a long time. Before recent stuff or whatever. That she's wondered for fucking years if I had serious issues I just wasn't sharing."

"Puck," Quinn said, her voice stern. "You already said all this to your mom. Kurt doesn't need to hear it."

"Fuck what Kurt needs to hear." He jerked away from Quinn. "My mom thought I was screwed in the head and never said a word because she was… what? Afraid? Well, how did she think _I_ felt?"

"Nobody's perfect. Not even mothers." She reached for him again, and this time Puck leaned into her touch.

"You would have been. If we kept Beth, you'd have been a perfect mother."

"I doubt that." She smiled when she spoke though.

Puck kissed her. "Can I talk to Kurt?"

She frowned. "You mean alone."

He nodded and looked into her eyes until she answered.

"Fine. I'll be just down the hall if you need anything." She stood, sending Kurt a glare behind Puck's back, and stalked from the room.

As soon as the door closed behind her, Puck grabbed Kurt. He practically tackled him so they lay together with Puck's arms around Kurt. "You're so much braver than I am, Kurt. How the fuck do you do it?" His breath tickled the back of Kurt's neck.

Kurt considered telling Puck that spooning wasn't really appropriate, but then he realized it didn't matter. Quinn was the only one who would care. And if contact was what Puck needed, Kurt would do his best to give it. He had already managed not to lash out when Puck grabbed him, so why not just do what little he could?

"Puck, you chased after Robin fucking Banks. That's not exactly cowardice."

"It was crazy is what it was. I still can't figure out how I thought that was a good idea." His lips brushed Kurt's neck as he spoke, and Kurt did jerk away at that.

"Sorry," he said, trying to lie back down. It was comfortable in Puck's arms. He should have felt safe there, but… it just felt too close to something else, something more than just innocent closeness, when Puck's _lips_ were touching him.

Rather than hold him again, Puck pulled away. "No, I'm sorry, Kurt, I don't even know why I…" He buried his face in his hands but didn't cry.

Kurt reached out the grasp Puck's fingers and pulled lightly. Puck let him uncover his face and look into his eyes. "You feel like I'm the only one who can understand. I know because I felt like no one ever could."

"Sort of," Puck admitted. "But sort of not because you wouldn't… someone else hurt you, Kurt, but you didn't want to start doing it to yourself. I just wish I knew how."

"Puck I tried to deny myself everyone who has ever loved me. I even took away my own identity because it hurt too damn much to be me. Maybe I didn't hurt myself the same way you did, but I did enough that if you hadn't found me… I don't think I'd have made it, Puck. Meg was nice, but she wasn't my family." He cupped Puck's face in his hands, gently so Puck could pull away if he needed to. "You are though. You're family to me Puck, and I don't care that we're not related."

Puck pulled Kurt in to hug him again, this time with Kurt's face pressed against his chest. "Do you think the therapist could help me?"

Kurt still hadn't decided how much his own therapy sessions helped. But he was going to them still, and he was better than before, right? "Yeah," he said, hoping Puck believed him.

"What's it like?"

"I don't know… it's like someone with a lot of questions asking you to talk to them because your parents are paying them to help." He brought a hand up to rub Puck's back. "Sometimes I guess it's nice to have someone who doesn't care about who I used to be though."

"I never thought of it that way."

"Of course you didn't. You never needed to." Kurt breathed deeply against Puck's shirt, taking in his scent and wondering why it reminded him so much of home.

"I… I was trying to help you though. I should have been thinking about stuff like that." He began to pull away, but Kurt squeezed himself tightly to Puck's chest.

"Why?" he asked, "It wasn't your job. My dad handled that part just fine."

"Yeah, but I—"

Kurt interrupted. "You what? You know more?"

"I do."

"But you're not the only one who helps me. You're… special I guess because you're right, you do know more. But that doesn't mean you have to handle more than you can." Kurt squeezed his eyes shut, tightening his hold on Puck so he could keep his face hidden. He knew he was telling Puck the truth, so why did it worm inside him and _hurt_ so sharply?

"Okay, I'll… I'll try to think about that more." He pulled away from Kurt so abruptly that Kurt didn't have a chance to stop him. "Do you—I saw you throw it away in the choir room. Do you miss it?"

Kurt felt like Puck had punched him in the gut. He curled forward against Puck's chest and clung to him, thinking of the knife Annette had returned to him. "I tried to go back for it, but it was gone. I… fuck, but I want nothing more than to have it back."

Puck hugged him tightly. "You don't need it."

"But I want it. Do you miss the one we took from you?"

"I thought I would." Puck shrugged. "But I don't. It was important because it was yours, not because I needed it."

"What _do_ you need, Puck?"

"I don't know."

Kurt reached up to cup Puck's face even though he knew it wasn't his place and Quinn would kill him if she walked in. "That's okay."

"Thanks, Kurt." Puck rolled away from Kurt to lie staring at the ceiling above his bed. "Can we stay in here a little longer though?"

"Yeah," Kurt shifted so he could lie on his back beside Puck. He remembered the time they had done this in his room and hoped it made Puck feel better to have someone with him. When Puck took his hand, Kurt wondered how long he had before Quinn came after him because, regardless of what Puck intended, Quinn was only going to see one thing. And Puck wouldn't always be able to just send her away as he had tonight. For now, Kurt squeezed Puck's hand and picked out shapes in the texture of the ceiling.


	70. Mercedes: If They Knew

Kurt chewed on the end of his pen, and Mercedes knew something was wrong. He was too stressed. Now she just had to figure out what about. "Give the poor pen a break," she said, pulling it lightly from his fingers. "I promise those rumors about it cheating on you with Finn are all lies."

Kurt smiled at that. It was nice to see Kurt smiling again. He had even relearned how to crack jokes, so long as he was in a good mood. He let out a deep breath and pushed his homework to the side. They had been studying together, but not getting much done anyway. Kurt was distracted, and Mercedes was not nearly as interested in diffusion as she was in her friend.

"Come on," she said, reaching a hand out to hold one of his. "Tell me what's wrong. I _know_ there's something."

"You can promise me not to repeat anything I say to anyone?"

"Kurt, I know I like to gossip, but I can keep a secret when it counts." She didn't say a word when Kurt came out to her when they were sophomores, and she wouldn't say a word about anything he told her now. Some things were just more important than having something to tell people about.

"I'm afraid." He seemed so tiny saying those words.

"Of what?"

"You." It hit her like a slushie: ice cold and out of nowhere. Before she could pull away, Kurt tightened his hold on her hand. She had never imagined Kurt was this strong, but she didn't think she'd be able to get him to let go if she wanted. "Not that I think you'll hurt me, Mercedes, not ever that. I just. I… There are things I've told Puck and never told anyone else. And he still wants to be my friend after hearing them, but I just can't imagine that anyone else would still want to be around me if they knew." Though his grip remained strong, Kurt's hands were shaking.

"I wouldn't—"

"Don't say it until you know. Please." Kurt let go of her hand then.

"Are you saying you want to tell me?" If he thought she would leave him afterward, then why did Kurt want to tell her? Mercedes came up blank and just hoped he had not reverted to driving people away.

"I feel like I could go my whole life without telling anyone else, but then I'd never be able to open up to another person ever again. I want to feel like a person again, Mercedes, and I have to do this before I can." His eyes were red already, shining with unshed tears. Whatever this was, it was something intense. Mercedes tried to make herself think of what could make her hate Kurt but had nothing. Not even stabbing Puck had driven anyone away from Kurt.

"You can tell me, Kurt. I'll listen." She'd spent most of her life more of a talker than a listener, but she knew this was about Kurt. She could listen when she needed to.

Kurt barked out a weird kind of laugh. "I don't even know where to start." He took a few deep breaths, holding tightly to the edge of the table. "I helped him rob a bank once. Not because he put a gun to my head, but because I wanted him to be happy with me. I held a woman's hands so she couldn't set off the alarm, and when that was done, he shot her. I let him kiss me while Kitty drove us away." Kurt's voice remained so tightly controlled while he spoke that it came out in a kind of strained monotone. He didn't cry.

"What else were you supposed to do? He would have killed you." Mercedes didn't know what else to say, what else Kurt could expect her to say.

"Yeah, but at what point does that excuse stop being enough, Mercedes? Is there a limit to what I can do in fear of death?" He was shaking. That was when Mercedes realized there was more. "Besides, he wasn't going to kill me, not then. At least I don't think he would have. That moment had already passed."

"Why?" No, that wasn't enough. "Why would he even want you to rob a bank. What if you got away or something?"

"That's what he does. Not all the time, but enough, I think." A sneer twisted his face.

"I don't understand, Kurt, what does he do?" Mercedes said the words. Or she thought she did. They felt ripped out of her more than anything else. She didn't think she wanted to know.

"He finds someone he wants, and he makes them into what he wants. I know it's what he did to Kitty because, fuck, but what else could it have been? And I think Jace and Todd too. Maybe that's why they didn't like it up the ass: because Rob never gave them a choice about it." He laughed, eyes wide and hands shaking, and Mercedes knew he found none of it funny.

"You mean he was… recruiting you?" It sounded like something out of a bad movie, not the sort of thing that happened to real people, especially not nice people. Kurt had always had some attitude, but he was sweet deep down. Even now, Mercedes knew the center of his heart was love, not hate. Sometimes it amazed her how strong God had made him, but now she thought maybe God just wanted Kurt to be able to live through all of this.

"Yeah. He had me drawing escape routes and sparring with Kitty. And…" Something drained out of his eyes, and Mercedes knew this was what Kurt was afraid to tell. That it was worse than what he had already told her scared her more than she liked. "He brought me to a warehouse. There was a guy there. Robin told me to rape and kill him."

"Oh my God." What else was there to say?

"I said I wouldn't. I mean, what else would I have said? But he didn't give me a choice. He even held my hand around the knife when we slit his throat."

Mercedes didn't care if there was more to hear. She couldn't just sit there and listen any longer. Her chair might have fallen when she stood, she couldn't tell. She only had eyes for Kurt in that moment. And once she had her arms around him, she squeezed them shut like that could hold back her tears.

"I don't know what to say," she admitted, voice thick. "But how could you think I would ever hate you, Kurt?"

"I hate myself for it. Why wouldn't you?" He didn't sound like a hardened criminal or trained recruit. He sounded like a little boy who just needed someone to love him.

Mercedes pulled back. Maybe if she looked him in the eye, he would know she meant every word and believe her. "Kurt, I could never hate you for what he did. It wasn't you, Kurt. He made you do it. All I care about is that you came back home. That's all any of us care about."

"That's basically what Puck said too."

"Then Puck is a smarter boy than I knew. You gotta know, Kurt, no one would hate you for what you can't help."

"What about things I did after he was dead?"

"Kurt, I don't care. Telling me won't change what I think. And you know, there are bound to be some people in your life you want to share everything with, but you don't have to worry about sharing this with everyone you know unless you want to. They know enough."

He pulled away from her, and Mercedes knew he was just going to argue more. "Quinn doesn't know anything I just told you, but she knows some of what came after. Quinn hates me."

"Quinn doesn't hate you, Kurt."

"Yes, she does. It's okay. I hate her too." His voice had changed, or maybe it was the way he talked. He suddenly sounded dangerous. It sounded more like he had when he called himself Alex, and that might have scared Mercedes a little. It made her think she could lose Kurt again.

"I know she can come off as… well, a bitch, but Quinn's really a nice girl." Mercedes thought Quinn and Kurt were probably just fighting over Puck. They had been for a long time now, even if neither of them seemed to realize it. Mercedes had watched her friends cycle through enough love triangles—way too many of them involving Rachel—to know what to look for.

When Kurt spoke, there was no emotion in his voice whatsoever, but his knuckles turned white with how tightly he clenched his fists. "I tied Puck to my bed against his will and tore his pants off intending to rape him. That's as far as I got, but I still did it."

"Why did you stop?" All Mercedes knew was that Puck was fine with Kurt. They were still friends. Well, she also knew Puck had some serious issues of his own too… Mercedes didn't let herself think too much about it. She had to hear Kurt's answer, hear something that could make what he'd just said somehow less terrible before she judged him for it. She reminded herself only God had the right to judge people while Kurt took in a long breath and let it out.

"I just couldn't do it. I untied him and gave him his pants back, and he refused to admit I was a terrible person." There it was: he couldn't do it. Mercedes almost laughed. She knew Kurt was a good person; he could never hurt someone the way he'd been hurt.

"He cares about you, Kurt." Honestly she had begun to think Puck was more than a little in love with Kurt and just didn't accept it because Kurt wasn't a girl. Sam agreed and quoted something about balls in someone's mouth that Mercedes hadn't decided if she wanted to know more about.

"You… you don't hate me?"

"I tried to tell you from the start that I wouldn't." She pulled him in for another hug and held him as he cried. She hoped that maybe by accepting and loving him, she could help Kurt to love himself again too.


	71. Kurt: One of Their Own

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nicole helped a lot with this chapter too, mostly by telling me to go for it.

"What the hell did you think you were doing?" Maybe Kurt shouldn't have been in the locker room, but he had a few minutes before the end of football practice since Finn had asked to leave early. He had time at least to yell at Finn and clear out.

"Defending you, dude. So he won't hurt you anymore." Finn sounded more hurt than angry.

"I don't need you to defend me, Finn. I can take care of myself." Kurt's fingers arched into claws, and he crossed his arms to keep from raising them at his brother. "And you'll do me even less of a favor if you get expelled over this."

"He won't tell." How could Finn be so damn sure? "We didn't really hurt him, just roughed him up a little."

"That doesn't make it okay." Kurt didn't like Strando—hell, Kurt hated Strando—but he didn't want his friends to go around beating people in his name. Thinking about it made him feel powerful. Made him feel like Robin. Most of all, it made him sick.

Finn busied his hands folding and unfolding his shirt instead of answering Kurt. Repeating it made the folds no straighter though, and Kurt did not have the patience for this today. He snatched the shirt out of Finn's hands and hurled it onto the floor beside the bench where Finn sat between rows of red lockers.

"Look at me!" Kurt screamed, trying to keep his hands from shaking. He paused for three deep but shaky breaths before continuing. "Never say something is for me unless I am okay with it, Finn. Never. And especially never attack someone in my fucking name. Don't make me regret taking it back again." The last part slipped out before Kurt could choke it back. It was the part that got through to Finn though. Kurt could see it in the way everything froze except for Finn's eyes which got bigger and bigger until Kurt worried the lids would pull back so far his eyeballs fell out.

"I'm sorry," Finn said, turning those eyes down to the floor in shame.

Kurt got what he wanted. Now he had to get out before he started feeling sorry for Finn, who looked like nothing so much as an oversized kicked puppy. The door swung open before Kurt reached it though. It slammed loudly against the doorstop, but a beefy arm stopped it from bouncing back. The team was here. They spilled in dressed in numbered jerseys and sweat. At first they chatted and laughed, continuing conversations and jokes started before reaching the locker room, but they quieted when they noticed Kurt. He tensed and began planning a route out.

"What are you doing here?" One of them asked. Azimio. Somehow, Kurt remembered him being bigger, more threatening.

"Just talking to my brother. I was just leaving, actually." His nails bit into his palms, but Kurt kept his fists clenched.

"More like sneaking in for a chance to see some real men's junk." Strando pushed his way to the front of the group, but Mike grabbed his arm to stop him before he reached Kurt.

"Believe me, Strando, I don't want to see your anything," Kurt sneered. He should have just cut the jerk's fucking throat and pleaded temporary insanity.

"I'm not the only guy on the team though. Gotta look out for my friends." He jerked his arm from Mike's grip but remained where he stood.

"As the prettiest boy on the team," one of the guys standing in the doorway began, "I gotta say, I'm not even worried." He was handsome, but Kurt doubted many people would pick him out as _most_ attractive, especially with guys like Puck and Finn on the team.

"Spade, you are so full of shit," Azimio said, but he chuckled and clapped the guy—Spade—on the shoulder as he spoke.

"No, I took a crap before practice."

"Shut it, Spade. No one cares." Strando huffed like he thought he could blow someone's house down.

"You're the antithesis of fun, dude." Spade pouted, and Kurt wondered suddenly how this guy managed not to get beat up.

"I'd be more fun if I didn't always have to worry about catching the gay through excessive exposure." He smirked like he thought himself clever.

Spade just shrugged.

"Did you think that up all on your own?" Kurt asked.

Strando scowled. "Don't push your luck, Hummel."

"Or what?" Finn said as he moved to stand beside Kurt.

"Or he'll pull some more pranks and pretend to be a tough guy up until he runs home crying to his mommy is my guess," Sam said. He shrugged and moved to join Finn beside Kurt. Mike and Artie followed suit, so they blocked the space between Kurt and the rest of the team. Kurt noted Puck's absence from the locker room with a frown.

Strando looked around at those still standing behind him and raised his arms to indicate them. "Looks like my side's bigger." He was a few miles past far too smug.

"Nice as it is that you finally got the bigger one of something, I really don't care," Spade spoke up again. He stepped away from Strando's pack at the door and turned to bow to both groups. "Now I'll just be—"

"You siding with the fags now?" Strando cut him off.

"No. I'm siding with the showers." He waved cheerfully and left.

Another member of the team made to follow Spade, but Strando caught him. "Where the fuck do you think you're going?" he demanded, gripping the guy's arm so tightly his knuckles turned white.

"I want to side with the showers too, man. I have a date to get to."

"Fuck that. We've got shit to deal with here." Strando growled the words, and Kurt wondered again how Spade got away with it. "And no one else is gonna run away from it." He turned and looked over the rest of the team. "You're either with me or with him." He jabbed his finger at Kurt. "And I don't see anyone standing with him who isn't probably gay or a cripple."

"Better unable to use my legs than my brain." Artie strove for angry, but Kurt heard more than a little hurt in his voice too.

"Dude, you don't want us to beat them up do you?" Azimio asked. "Because I'm not hitting a kid in a wheelchair."

"So ignore him. The worst he can do is run over your toes." Strando scowled. He had probably expected a stronger front from the team.

"Then you _do_ want us to beat them up?" Azimio crossed his arms and appraised Kurt's friends with a glance.

"I just want the little freak to learn a lesson is all."

"I'm a student." Kurt didn't even feel rude interrupting based on the conversation. "I learn lessons five days a week. It's kind of the point of school."

"Shut your fagslut mouth." Strando had lost his temper somewhere. Kurt wondered idly if a cricket had made off with it.

"Back off, Strando." Mike stepped forward, ready to fight.

"Like hell. Adams, Karofsky," Strando named off two of the biggest guys on the team, "Back me up here."

Azimio sighed but stepped forward. "Just let this be quick. I got places to be too, and they ain't the showers with you."

Karofsky didn't move.

Strando spun toward him. "Are you deaf, scared, or just stupid?"

Karofsky shrugged. "You're not my dad, dude. You can't just order me around."

"We're a team, Karofsky. We're supposed to work together." Strando's face and neck had turned red.

The biggest guy on the team finally stepped forward then. Kurt thought his name was Shane. "Yeah, but they're on our team too." Karofsky looked almost relieved until Strando replied.

"The homo is definitely not on our team, and it seems like the rest of them are on _his_ team." Strando motioned wildly at Kurt. He was obviously losing it.

Azimio rolled his eyes. "Too many teams going on here, man. Let's just teach these guys not to bring their ladyboys into the locker room where we change so that we get on with our days." He turned to Karofsky. "Come on, dude, we're like a tag team."

Azimio must have been more a leader on the team than Strando because the other guys joined in on egging Karofsky on. Kurt tried to figure out what made Karofsky so reluctant but came up empty. Finally Karofsky threw up his hands as if in defeat, but when he spoke, it didn't sound like giving in. "He doesn't want to punish them for bringing the homo in, Z. The one he wants to beat up is Hummel."

"I don't think he'd hit a girl." Azimio laughed like it was actually funny. A few others joined in.

"Then sucks ass for Hummel that he's _not_ a girl." Karofsky actually looked mad. That shut the others up though.

"Dude who cares? He's gay. I mean, he's pretty much supposed to get teased," Azimio said. "Just like Jacob Ben Israel. He wouldn't know what to do with himself if we didn't give him a hard time."

Karofsky looked confused. Kurt caught himself thinking he might be losing an ally here and wondered when the hell _David Karofsky_ got moved to the ally category. But ally or not, he could be useful in getting the other jocks to back down, and seeing him waver made Kurt nervous. Then he spoke, and Kurt realized he shouldn't have worried.

"What is wrong with you?" The words hung visibly over the room. Karofsky's eyes widened and his mouth fell open in comical surprise. That Karosky hadn't expected to say it only made Kurt more certain he meant what he'd said.

"Nothing. What the fuck is wrong with you?" Strando answered when it became obvious Azimio was too busy being surprised to say anything.

"He's not _just_ gay. He's… I mean we all know what happened to him, and how is it okay to… after _that,"_ Karofsky stammered and darted his eyes back and forth, refusing to look at anyone for too long.

"I can take care of myself," Kurt insisted before he could stop himself. He shouldn't have said anything. Karofsky had presented a fantastic argument for leaving Kurt the hell alone, maybe even the argument that had driven him to keep his own distance from Kurt all this time. Kurt should have accepted it, but the words pushed their way past his teeth before he could bite them back.

"Yeah," Strando added. "And he's a danger to society." He nodded as if to confirm it to himself.

"He's only a danger to you because you keep antagonizing him," Artie pointed out.

"Yeah, he's left me alone," Karofsky added in an almost civil tone.

"That doesn't mean he gets a free pass to sneak around in here where he knows we change clothes," Strando snarled.

"He said he was leaving," Finn said.

"And believe me when I say I'm not interested." Kurt raised an eyebrow. "Can I get out of here now? It's a real pain on the eyes to have to look at you for this long."

Strando sputtered, but Azimio pushed him toward the showers and said, "Yeah, Hummel, get out of here."

Kurt did just that. He tried to thank Karofsky on his way past, but didn't get the chance. Karofsky got away from Kurt faster than a guy his size should have been able to. He looked more like a deer that just barely pulled itself away from the headlights of an oncoming truck than like a guy who just stood up to most of a football team to defend someone none of them even liked.

Outside the locker room, Kurt leaned against the wall waiting for Finn. He shouldn't be long since he had showered already after telling Coach Beiste he needed to leave early to drive Kurt out to see Dr. Keynes. Finn trudged out while Kurt was checking Facebook on his phone.

"Oh, stop moping," Kurt said when he noticed the hunch in Finn's shoulders and the way he kept his eyes on Kurt's shoes.

"I wasn't—"

"You were moping. Now let's go pick up a snack for the drive out to Westerville. I'm in the mood to eat something I shouldn't."

Finn smiled at that, his goofy half-smile that meant he still only half realized it was okay to be happy. "I, um, I think they'll leave you alone now," he said with an almost-shrug. "Sorry I didn't say more. I should have been the one to stop them."

"Finn, I'm friends with a good quarter of the football team. None of them stopped Strando either. It's okay. Better it came from one of their own since Strando's been ignoring you all from the start." Kurt shook his head and held the door open for Finn. He squinted in the too-bright sunlight outside the school building.

"Yeah, you got a point there."

Kurt thought of something else while he hopped into the passenger seat. "Finn, _why_ do you think they'll leave me alone?"

"Just the way they were talking, I guess." Finn started the car, almost shifted into reverse, stopped, put his seatbelt on, and then pulled out of the spot. "I don't know."

"If you don't know, then how can you say they'll leave me alone? You're talking about a guy who filled my locker with fucking crickets because I fought back when he tried to beat me up."

"I know, but… I've been a jock for a while, Kurt." He shrugged with his hands still on the wheel. "I just know."

Kurt rolled his eyes even though Finn wasn't looking at him. "We'll see." Kurt wanted to ask about Karofsky too but decided against it. Finn obviously didn't want to discuss whatever happened in the locker room after Kurt left, and since they'd be spending the next two hours in the car together, Kurt decided not to antagonize his brother. Instead, he settled on hoping Finn was right.


	72. Quinn: What He Needs

The words echoed through her mind without end, forgetting that echoes were supposed to face with each repetition. Quinn tried to scream them out, beating her hands against the steering wheel, but she needed something more. It only hurt more that he had started with, "I still love you." Worse, she had known from the start that he would leave her. She had thought she was ready.

"I told you," she shouted into the emptiness of her car as tears blurred the colors of the street together.

Quinn slammed on the brakes and swerved into a parking lot to cry before she hit something. Now if only it would rain, that would suit her perfectly. A sob choked her as her nose started to run, and she opened her glove box to dig around for the tissues she kept stashed there. Even after wiping her eyes, she only saw Puck, his eyebrows drawn together as he stared at their clasped hands. He had thought a lot about this, he assured her, but they weren't right, didn't fit, couldn't be. When he pressed a pillow against his nose so a lingering scent could lure him to sleep, it wasn't _her_ perfume he wanted.

How stupid had she been to believe he wanted her? Quinn screamed again, but sobs fractured and overtook the sound. "I will always love you," he had said with one hand on hers and the other on her cheek. "But that's not what I need anymore. I'm sorry, Quinn."

"What do you need?" She had demanded, jerking out of his grasp because the only thing she could never be for him was Kurt.

"You know." But she wished she didn't.

She had slapped him. She wished her hand still stung with the force of it because then his face would too. Now she clutched that hand to her chest with a wadded tissue, damp with tears, poking out between her fingers. It was supposed to hurt less. She told herself for a long time that she was ready for this, that it was inevitable, even that she had a chance to win him back after he realized his mistake. None of that helped now. Lying to herself had not helped. More than anything she just wanted someone to love her without leaving her.

She tried to tell Puck he needed her. That she could comfort him when he couldn't go to anyone else. That she knew why he was wearing long sleeves, could see where it caught against still-wet blood to stick to his arm. She wouldn't tell his mother, only wanted to help. That was all she wanted.

"No," he had said. "You want—you _deserve_ more."

How could he be socalm about it all? She knew he wasn't though, not really. He only seemed that way because he felt better when it still hurt but had yet to scab over and itch. Quinn should never have learned that. Puck reached out to everyone after the second time, invited all of his friends and his family to help him, so why hadn't it just stopped. Why hadn't he gotten better then?

Quinn wrapped her arms around herself, wishing she could hold back the sobs or at least stop the way they shook her body. She could not understand why Puck wanted to hurt. His problems all stemmed from someone hurting him, so how could more pain possibly help? Quinn had tried to understand, tried to listen when Puck explained, but it was too foreign for her. She knew what it was like to hurt but could not imagine going as far as Puck had. Maybe that was why he left her.

She wiped her eyes with the tissue and blew her nose. This parking lot was not the place for her to cry. At first, she thought she would drive home, but then she took the wrong turn by something other than an accident and pulled up in front of Kurt's house instead. Enough cars filled the driveway and street that Quinn knew she would have an audience. Did she want one? Unable to find an answer, Quinn swung her feet out of the car before she lost her nerve. Kurt deserved to know, didn't he? That Puck had finally dumped her for him. That Puck was so obsessed with him he'd even forgotten Kurt was a guy. That Quinn hated Kurt more than she had ever hated anyone.

"Quinn, what's wrong? Are you okay?" Artie asked almost as soon as she entered the house. He began wheeling toward her until she spoke.

"Where's Kurt?" By their expressions, no one liked her tone.

"Getting drinks. Finn is with him," Mercedes said. She looked worried. "Quinn, what happened?" Mercedes stood from where she sat on the couch and walked forward, but Quinn wanted revenge, not comfort. "Was it Puck?"

Kurt entered the room then, so Quinn knew she could answer. "Of course it was Puck." His name felt thick in her mouth, and she wished she had taken time to work her teeth into it.

Mercedes asked, "Is he okay," but Quinn could tell by Kurt's expression that he understood what had happened.

"He hasn't been okay for a long time, has he, Kurt?" His name she spat.

"No. Not for longer than either of us knew." He set down the cans of soda he had carried out from the kitchen.

"He would be fine though, handling it at least, if not for you." If not for what he did to Puck.

"He'd still be your boyfriend, you mean." His eyes narrowed, and he gripped the back of the armchair where Sam sat while he hissed what he must have known as soon as he saw Quinn's tears.

"Kurt, he _is_ her—" Artie started, but Quinn cut him off.

"He said I'm not what he needs. Tell me how you're what he needs, Kurt. Tell me how hurting him so much has made you so special." Having someone to scream at helped quiet the words echoing through her head. Or maybe they just moved into her blood because she felt it boiling through her.

Kurt made a strangled animal sound instead of talking. He blinked rapidly, breathed slowly, and finally parted his lips to speak. "Maybe I just accept what he tells me instead of judging him for it."

"Or maybe he likes that you can hurt him, Kurt. That's what he wants isn't it? To hurt some more the way you made him hurt before?" She stalked toward him, but Sam took her arm before she could reach Kurt and whispered something probably meant for calming. Quinn shook him off but stood back from Kurt.

"He knows I won't hurt him again."

"Maybe not with a knife, and maybe not without him asking first. But, really, Kurt, would you _never_ hurt him again, not even a little?" How much did she need to say before Kurt would know what she meant? For that matter, how much secrecy did she even owe him? His failures and crimes deserved to see the light of day for once. "Not even if he begged you to tie him up again and show him this time how Robin Banks made you feel?"

Too much. Kurt launched himself from behind the chair right at Quinn. His fist met her face before Finn stopped him. The impact forced Quinn back, and though she stumbled, she did not fall. She refused to give Kurt the satisfaction of seeing her on the ground.

"He told me I'm not what he needs, but you aren't either, Kurt. You can only make him worse." She spun around and stalked from the house before Kurt could punch her again.

"Quinn, wait up," Mercedes called after she was outside.

"What?" Quinn wanted to get away, to go curl up in her room and cry with something cold pressed against her face to keep it from bruising.

"Are you okay? He shouldn't have hit you like that." She reached toward Quinn's face but stopped short of touching it.

"I'll be fine." Quinn pressed her fingers to where Kurt's fist had met her cheek and winced at the tenderness.

"It's not his fault, you know."

"And why not? Nothing is ever Kurt's fault anymore because he's too delicate for responsibility." Quinn felt her lips tremble and stilled them by clenching her teeth and pressing her lips together tightly.

"Kurt told me what he did to Puck. You can't hold it against him any more than you can hold cutting against Puck." Quinn wondered how Mercedes could believe they were the same.

But Quinn didhold it against Puck, if not nearly so much as she held _attempted rape_ against Kurt. She just tried not to admit it to anyone because they thought he couldn't help himself, but Quinn gave him more credit than that. "And if Kurt had gone on to continue Banks's 'work'? Would we have to forgive him that too?"

"No, that's different." Mercedes shook her head and grabbed for Quinn's hand. "Kurt regrets what he did and would never do it again. I think you know that too, Quinn."

"I don't. All I know about Kurt is that he hurts people. At least Puck has the decency to hold the pain back for himself." She started crying again and ran away to her car. When she pulled away, Quinn saw Mercedes still on Kurt's front lawn, watching her. She wondered if she would have anyone left at all when Kurt was done with them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reminder that just because a character thinks, does, or says something doesn't mean the author agrees, just in case you guys needed to hear that.


	73. Kurt: I Can't Be

"I thought you loved her." As glad as Kurt was to be rid of Quinn, he had to start thinking of Puck first instead of himself. Quinn had been there for Puck when Kurt wasn't, so he owed them both at least this much.

"I did." Puck rubbed a hand along his arm, staring up at Kurt's ceiling fan from where he sat at the edge of the bed. "I mean, I do." He shifted position only to shift back again. "I guess I always will, but not the same as I thought I loved her before."

Kurt beat back the impulse to grin and say, 'Good riddance.' Instead he asked, "Why?"

 _Did I look that annoyed with people's questions?_ He wondered as Puck's expression shifted. They stared at each other across the length of Kurt's bed as if by staring they could each convince the other to either give in or back off.

Finally Puck sighed. "I fell in love with Quinn because she was beautiful and so sure of who she was and that she'd never take shit from anybody. And, even if I only met her the once, we had a daughter who I just know is the most perfect little girl in the world."

Even knowing about Quinn's pregnancy and the baby girl she gave up for adoption, Kurt had never been able to picture Puck as a father. He had always assumed that was part of why Quinn gave the child up. The tiny smile and the soft glow it brought to Puck's face when he mentioned his daughter convinced Kurt in a second that he had been wrong. Puck would be a great father someday.

"I know when you love someone you're supposed to accept their flaws too," Puck continued. "But Quinn couldn't accept mine. She wanted to fix me, not take me as I am, and I guess I couldn't handle that about her either." Puck shook his head.

"Yeah, I get that." Everyone wanted to fix Kurt too. Everyone but Puck.

"Anyway, I heard the weirdest shit from Mike," Puck said with a smirk. "I think it went that fucking Karofsky of all people told the jocks to leave you alone."

"Don't change the subject on me, Puckerman. Though it _was_ weird; I won't deny that." Karofsky's primary target had been Finn for most of Sophomore year, but it had begun shifting to Kurt before Robin took him. When Kurt had imagined having trouble returning to school, trouble had always worn Karofsky's face. Then Strando had been the problem instead, and Karofsky was apparently the solution.

"So Mike wasn't full of shit?"

Kurt rolled his eyes. "No. I think Karofsky could have gone the rest of his life without saying anything about it, but when the rest of the team started pushing him, he pushed right back and told them they were out of line."

"Still, that's a hell of a lot more balls than I ever gave him credit for." Puck laughed. It was good to hear. "I'll have to remember not to call him anything too bad next time I see him."

"If you don't start going to class and practice, you _won't_ see him. Or anyone. Or graduation."

Puck groaned. "Not you too, Kurt. It's fucking October; I can deal with graduation in March or April or fuckever."

"October." Of course it was October, had been for twenty-four days now, and Kurt had been aware of every one. Aware in the way he had been aware of Robin's gun near the end: he knew it was there and couldn't rightfully ignore it but tried to, tried to ignore it so hard that sometimes he forgot just a little that he could be killed at any moment.

"Kurt, are you okay?" Puck leaned forward and placed his hand over Kurt's.

"October twenty-seventh," Kurt said before he could stop himself. Sometimes he remembered it as a twisted grin below a broken nose, and sometimes he remembered it as a number. The grin at least, he had done away with, but he hadn't faced another October twenty-seventh since the one when Robin kidnapped him from the choir room. He knew being afraid of a calendar date was stupid. He also knew when Puck moved in to hug him, Kurt leaned into the touch because it was all the comfort he had against the day.

"Shit," Puck muttered into his ear, "How did I forget?"

"I sort of hope everyone forgets."

"Because it's better that way or because it's easier?" Puck's words fell into Kurt's ear with more weight than whispers should be allowed.

"You already know." Kurt squirmed away from Puck only to be pulled in tighter against his friend's chest. He felt the beat of Puck's heart and the rise and fall of his breath.

"So say it."

"Only if you will." He waited then for Puck to agree before saying more. "Because it's easier. Because if no one else makes a big deal out of it, then maybe I won't have to face up to anything. Assuming there's anything in a number to face in the first place."

"I think there is." His arms tensed around Kurt. "And I hope to hell on September Seventh, Twenty-Thirteen, you smack me over the head when I try to pretend nothing's wrong." Kurt had already forgotten the date. Puck's date. The day he first cut himself. Fuck. Some friend he was. "But maybe it's not all bad. I mean, if it comes around again, that means you made it out a year after it happened, right?"

Kurt nodded.

"You're allowed to call bullshit if you think I'm full of it."

Kurt laughed. "I don't know what I think. Maybe… maybe I'll know in a few days."

"Yeah, well, don't leave me in the dark. I don't think I can take waiting to find out on my own."

Kurt pulled away just enough to look in Puck's eyes. He felt a frown tug at his lips and wondered if that was really as close to a straight face as he could manage. Then, in a high, sing-song voice, he called, "No spoilers!"

It wasn't that good a joke. They both laughed anyway. Puck's arms shook and his eyes closed as he laughed. As his last chuckles faded, Puck glanced up into Kurt's eyes still smiling. He looked more at peace with himself than Kurt had seen in a long time. The tension had faded from his eyes, and his smile covered the lines of worry around his mouth. Even the set of his shoulders relaxed, as though a tight knot had been holding them up only to be undone by Kurt's wild jabs at humor.

Puck reached a hand out to touch Kurt's face. "You look better when you smile," he said. "Like something in the world has gone right for once."

Kurt almost told him he'd just been thinking the same, but choked on his words when Puck leaned forward into what was definitely Kurt's personal space. As Puck's arms went to circle him, Kurt readied himself to sigh and accept a hug because harmless physical contact was a sacrifice he just had to make for his friends. Then Puck's face was in the wrong place and much to close, and another person's lips touched the space where only Kurt's should have been. There was a word for this, he knew, but Kurt's mind had already shut down word processing in favor of escape routes.

One arm rammed against Puck's chest while the other came up between Kurt's torso and Puck's arm to shove out against the arm. Kurt twisted his body to slide out of the opening before realizing quite how easily Puck's arm had moved from around him. When he found himself in a defensive stance in his own bedroom with only a wide-eyed Puck to fight, Kurt nearly laughed at himself. He wasn't in danger here. Kurt let his arms down only to raise them again just enough to wrap around himself.

"Are you okay?" Puck asked, his voice already small but shrinking with each word.

Kurt nodded. "You?"

"Of course _I_ am." Puck stood, hesitated, dropped back to the bed. "Sorry."

With an effort, Kurt slowed his breathing, but his heart still raced in a way he knew meant fear, not excitement at being… at being kissed. Fuck. Kissed. "W-why?"

"Because I scared you. If I knew—"

"I meant why did you kiss me," Kurt interrupted. As soon as he said it, doubt washed over him. What if Puck hadn't kissed him? What if it had been an accident? If Kurt had imagined it? Had some sort of PTSD-induced hallucination?

"I shouldn't have. It was stupid. I should have realized you would freak out, and it wasn't okay…" Puck continued ranting and mumbling and occasionally whining about Kurt's feelings, but Kurt missed most of it because he'd already convinced himself Puck had never kissed him. It took another moment to realize _Noah Puckerman had just kissed him_ , and then a moment longer to remember what exactly kissing was for because it didn't seem like something he and Puck would do together.

It seemed a hell of a lot more like something he and Rob would do together.

"Puck, shut up."

"But, Kurt, I—" Puck stopped when Kurt held up a finger in front of him.

"You kissed me." Even though he managed to make it a sentence, it was still just a little bit a question. Puck must have noticed since he nodded. "You _wanted_ to kiss me?"

"Well, yeah, that's why I did it."

The only other people Kurt had ever kissed were dead men and Brittany. Todd hadn't been so bad. Or, well, yes he had. He was all the kinds of criminal Rob was, just… he seemed nicer about it. Had seemed nicer back when he was alive. Kurt couldn't say he missed him though.

He _could_ say that about Robin. Sometimes. Kurt licked his lips and wondered how they tasted to others. Had they tasted any different when he called himself Alex? No, they wouldn't have. Roses and smelling as sweet and all that. It was just a name. Just a forsaken identity that had done him no good anyway.

"But why?" He asked again when he remembered he needed to talk.

"Why wouldn't I want to kiss you?" Given how many reasons Kurt came up with even before being asked, he was amazed that Puck managed to look honest.

"For one, you were only just telling me how you'll never be over the girl you broke up with _last week_." His hands flew out, returned to his sides, trembled despite every attempt to still them.

"Well never's a hard time to wait for, so I figured I'd just ignore it from now on." Puck started to shrug but clearly thought better of it after raising his shoulders. "I thought it was supposed to be more than it was, and maybe if I waited long enough it would be. Then it still wasn't."

"Are you trying to convince me you've completely moved on and aren't in any way emotionally compromised? Because bullshit."

Puck flinched. "It's not like I was planning anything okay. I just..."

"If you say anything about going with the moment or any possible rewording thereof, I will glitterbomb you and then make you clean it up. By hand." Kurt was proud of how much it sounded like something he would have threatened before Robin taught him what a real threat sounded like.

"You were laughing. You looked happy. I ignored all the moments and made a new one on a bad impulse. I won't do it again."

"Usually when people think I look happy they tell me how nice it is to see me laughing again," Kurt pointed out.

"To be fair, most of the people you know are smarter than me." Puck shrugged.

"So you're saying you wanted to kiss me because you're an idiot." Kurt crossed his arms and used the extra height added by standing to his advantage in staring Puck down."

"What? No! I said I _actually_ kissed you because I'm an idiot. Wanting to has nothing to do with my level of stupid." Puck stood. While Kurt lost his height advantage, he and Puck were still at nearly eye-level.

"I'm not seeing the difference."

"Oh." His features fell into the look people gave Kurt sometimes when they realized why he wore long sleeves and scarves in mid-summer. "I really like you, Kurt." He took a deep breath, and Kurt was too startled to use it as a chance to argue. "I'm not used to feeling this way about a dude, but it's still there, you know. You're awesome and badass and not an asshole, which is nice."

Kurt pulled Puck to the bed so they could sit while he tried to find a way not to hurt Puck because whatever else they were, they were still friends. "Do you remember when I took my name back and got a bit too flirty?"

"I remember you flirting too much before that too." He raised his eyebrows and smirked.

Kurt rolled his eyes. "I was trying to reference that I thought I liked you but I was just grateful because you were the one around when I found myself again."

"You mean you were trying to tell me I don't actually have feelings for you." Puck scowled. He had been leaning forward but pulled back, shaking his head. Then he sighed and relaxed into a slouch. "And also that you're not interested in me anyway."

"I'm not interested in anyone right now, Puck." Kurt reached for Puck's hand only to have it pulled away from him. "I… I can't be."

Given that he'd just turned him down, Kurt didn't expect it when Puck pulled him in for a hug. But even if Puck only wanted to comfort Kurt, it wasn't the same anymore. Kurt knew Puck wanted more, wanted something Kurt could not give him. He let Puck hold him anyway because he couldn't stand to lose him now.


	74. Puck: Take a Look Inside

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song: Damn Yankees – "Where You Goin' Now." I had actually thought of using this song a loooong time ago when I first started the story, then decided not to use it, and then suddenly found I had a place for it again. :P

Puck wanted to say fuck sectionals and be done with it, but Mr. Schue kept insisting they practice and think about setlists. For the most part, Puck had been skipping practice because, well, fuck sectionals. Given that tomorrow would be Kurt's not-awesome big day, Puck thought he should be there for the guy today. So yesterday when he'd decided fuck school altogether, he spent the day going through his music so he'd have the right song for fucking sectionals. Schuester had been so surprised he went off to print out music for everyone without even getting on to Puck for ditching again.

When Puck reached the choir room, he found it empty except for Kurt and Finn. He dropped down into the unoccupied seat at Kurt's left with a grin.

"'Sup."

Kurt arched an eyebrow. "Really? 'Sup? That's not even a word."

"Dude, chill. How about, Good morrow, good sir, and how good are you this goodly day?"

Kurt chuckled, but it died out too quickly. Finn had an awkward grin stuck on his face so hard Puck wasn't sure he'd ever get it off. He guessed Kurt was stressing them both out worrying about tomorrow. The others began to trickle in, and Puck decided he should let Kurt alone for now. Mr. Schue came in last, and Puck was convinced he'd watched from further down the hall to make sure everyone else arrived first.

"Okay, guys, at least _one_ of you is serious about sectionals this year, and we have our first suggested number!" Schuester began handing out music as he spoke. It was weird how irritating this guy could be without even trying.

Puck just rolled his eyes until he had his own part. He raised his hand in confusion. "Mr. Schue, I think I got the wrong one."

"No, that's right." He smiled.

"But it says I'm lead though." Puck scratched at his hair. "I don't even know if I can hit some of the notes in this song."

"Just try it, Puck. You've got it in you." Oh, fuck, inspirational motivational shit. Just what Puck wanted.

And oh man, Kurt was looking at him. "Did you have anything to do with this?"

"No?" Kurt was so on to him.

"Because it says I'm also lead."

"Wasn't me." Damn that Schuester making Puck's plots even more transparent than they were on their own. "Hey did he give you the high notes?" Puck checked his sheet and apparently he didn't get to pass all the hard parts off to Kurt. Damn.

"Can we stop talking about singing and actually get to it now?" Oh, yeah, Glee club was always serious business to Rachel. Puck let out an exaggerated sigh and twirled his fingers at the musicians (what were their names? Did they even have names?) to start. Rachel seemed pleased, which was strange given that she was about to sing backup.

_There's a face in the mirror  
And you close your eyes  
Much easier to turn away  
Than to take a look inside_

The first stanza went to Kurt. He sang soft and high and more than a little sad. Puck wondered if Kurt knew the song. Damn Yankees didn't seem like Kurt's thing, even if it wasn't one of their more hardcore songs. Know it or not, Kurt handled the song as perfectly as he did any other. Puck pictured him spotlit, on stage, the rest of the club in rows behind him. When he opened his mouth to start in on his part, Puck realized he wanted a duet with Kurt, and if sectionals was what it took to get there, then so be it.

_So you blow out the candle  
And you turn out the light_

_Then you stumble into darkness  
Do you believe that love is blind_

Puck caught the look Kurt gave him at the last line and couldn't blame him. He chose this song for a reason, for a lot of reasons actually. Maybe Puck had spent a long time focused on attractive women, but that didn't explain his feelings for Kurt any more than Schuester's eyebrows explained why Rachel hadn't demanded the solo for herself. He could feel the darkness around him already, and it felt like touching a knife at both ends. Maybe blocking out everything else was just what it took for him to know what he'd been feeling all along.

_Didn't anybody tell you  
It's never too late to try  
Hold the line_

_Before you say goodbye_

They finally joined their voices, Kurt singing even higher than the original. Fuck but Kurt's voice was beautiful. Puck especially loved the words, "never too late," in Kurt's voice because sometimes Kurt acted like it _was_ too late, like he'd been ruined before he turned eighteen and need not bother trying to live anymore.

_Where you goin' now  
When your world's turned inside out  
Isn't love what it's all about  
Where you goin' now  
When you get to the top of the hill  
Gonna be there yes I will_

Puck wondered how much he gave away when he looked at Kurt only to decide he didn't care. He would give anything away for Kurt, maybe not now because there were some things neither of them knew how to part with just yet, but eventually. He could wait. He would wait for Kurt as long as he needed to.

After practice, when everyone had wandered off in twos and threes to head home or to the Lime Bean, Kurt found Puck. He stopped Puck in his tracks by planting himself in the middle of the hall, hands on his hips and, "Bitch please," practically written over his face.

"I know you were behind that, Puckerman."

"I didn't tell him who should sing it, _Hummel."_ Puck rolled his eyes. "Actually I expected it to go to Finn and Rachel."

Kurt rolled his eyes. "Puck, Mr. Schue worries about his students probably more than is normal. If you bring a song to him, he's going to assume it's because it lifts up your spirit into the fluffy clouds and rainbows of happyland. Then he's going to give you that song to sing because he wants to help you be in happyland despite its terrible name. Honestly, who even thought of that?"

Puck raised an eyebrow.

"I was trying to be funny, Puck. Just laugh."

Puck obliged. "Dude, you have got to work on your jokes."

"Shut up."

"Have you always been this bad?" He rolled his eyes and stepped toward Kurt so he could link their arms together to lead Kurt down the hall.

"My most successful humor is typically unintentional," Kurt admitted. "Or a poorly thought-out insult that ends up being okay because it's funny too."

If he didn't know how badly it would go over, Puck might have kissed Kurt again. Instead he made the mistake of staying silent until Kurt returned the conversation to what he'd meant it to be from the start.

"Even if he hadn't made us sing it, I think I'd have guessed the song was from you. And meant for me."

"Hey, I could be singing to Mike this time, you never know." Puck shrugged. "I like my men unavailable."

Kurt rolled his eyes, but his frown looked too serious. "I wasn't exaggerating when I said I'm not ready to be in a romantic relationship. I'm not even close."

"I know."

"You're not ready either." Kurt pulled his arm away from Puck and jabbed a finger against Puck's arm as he spoke.

"So I'll wait. I'm okay with that."

"And how long are you prepared to wait, Puck?" Kurt stopped walking entirely, and Puck turned to face him.

"As long as you need me to." That could be any length of time, he knew. It could be days or years.

"What if I'm never ready though? Do you really want to spend your whole life waiting around for something that will never happen?" Kurt's voice rose in pitch if not volume as he spoke.

"For you, I would."

"I don't want you to. That's stupid to spend your life alone just because I have to." His eyes turned red and wet.

"But you don't have to. And even if we're not dating, we won't be alone, Kurt. It's not like I'm gonna go live in a cave in the forest until you decide it's time to make out." Puck would stay with Kurt regardless. He didn't know how not to anymore and had no interest in learning.

Kurt sighed and shook his head. "I don't know what else to say to you. We're not right for each other."

"We could be."

"Puck, you want..." He paused to study the floor. "Things I can't give."

"Give me a break, dude. I don't want anything more than I want to be with you." He knew what "things" Kurt meant and had more than a small suspicion that Kurt _could_ give them, that Kurt would even enjoy it if he weren't so terrified of going too far. Those were ideas for another talk though, a much later talk when saying the words wouldn't send one or both of them into a panic attack. "But not yet. You're right: we're not ready. So first we get through tomorrow as friends, and then we go on as friends and try to hurt a little less someday down the line."

"Yeah... tomorrow." Kurt shuddered.

"You'll make it through." He wanted to say Kurt would be okay but knew better than that. Instead Puck took Kurt's arm again and tried to convince himself that hiding away in his room tomorrow was not an option. For him or for Kurt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So we've already passed the one-year mark from chapters 1 and 2, but I've always measured the passage of time in this story based on chapter 3. As of chapter 75, it will have been exactly one year. Does it feel like a year? I know it's been longer for those of you who have been with me from the beginning.


	75. Kurt: So Your Nightmares Really Happened

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry. I thought this was the last chapter I posted. But no, I left you in suspense (assuming you felt suspense, that is).
> 
> Trigger Warning for a description of cutting.

Kurt woke up on October twenty-seventh and decided to hide away at home, but Puck called and convinced him to leave the house. The conversation went something along the lines of:

"Go to school."

"Fuck you."

"See you there."

There was more about facing his problems head on and letting his friends help him through hard times, but Kurt just directed them back at Puck until they were left with only silence because they both wanted to hide. When he ended the call, Kurt got up and began selecting what to wear today anyway. First he pulled out a subdued outfit all in black. But, no, that wouldn't do. He needed something that screamed, 'You can't hurt me. I am Kurt Hummel and I am the head bitch in charge of this school, this town, and the whole fucking world.' He went back to his closet for something with color and a more interesting shape than just skinny jeans and a shirt.

He started with red. He wanted a bold, take-no-prisoners color, and only bright red would do. He chose to accent it with dark teal and a splash of pale lime. He spent half an hour debating the merits of a tie versus a scarf for his lime accent. By the time he found the perfect knot for the scarf to match his outfit, Kurt only had time left to grab an apple on his way out the door or risk being late. In a way it was fun to waste time obsessing over an outfit again. Somehow he had forgotten why he used to care so much, but he remembered now that he enjoyedthings once upon a time and hadn't always dedicated all of his time to simply surviving another day. Kurt decided to ask the girls out to the mall on Saturday. Maybe he could finally have some fun shopping again.

Finn kept trying to say something on the drive to school only to clamp his mouth shut and adjust his grip on the wheel. Then he slid his eyes from the road to Kurt whenever they hit a stoplight, parted his lips, shaped them around a word, and cut off once more. Kurt could guess what he wanted to talk about, and why it was hard for Finn. He meant well, but he rarely understood.

"I'm fine right now. You'll be able to tell if I'm not." Kurt chewed on his lip, imagining all the things that could set him off today. It helped to imagine his friends standing by him in each scenario.

Maybe one of the jocks would decide his respite was over. Kurt had handled them before, but maybe this time he'd try to handle them permanently or collapse to the ground imagining the chains or ropes that used to hold him down. But maybe Finn would be there to hold him back or pick him up, and maybe Puck would beat the shit out of anyone who tried to give Kurt a hard time. Maybe Kurt would walk into the choir room and instead of seeing Brad at the piano, Kurt would remember Robin standing in front of it. Maybe he would try to run or forget that Robin was dead now. But maybe Finn would chase after him, or Puck would remind Kurt that he slit the fucker's throat. Maybe it wouldn't be anything except thinking about it too much, but maybe could still include Finn and Puck and Mercedes and the rest standing beside him.

Kurt took a deep breath. He could do this. "Just... don't leave me alone today, okay?"

Finn crooked his mouth into something like a smile except that it was sad. "Not for a second."

"I may have to ditch French." None of his friends took French with Kurt.

"That's fourth period, right?" Finn asked, and Kurt arched an eyebrow in response because of course it was fourth. Finn had memorized his schedule before Kurt had. "That's Mr. Schue's free period. Maybe he could sit in with you or let you stay in his office or something."

"You already talked to him, didn't you?"

"Yeah, he said he had to talk to the French teacher though, so he couldn't say which of those he could do. Either way we're supposed to meet him at his office after third period." Finn's eyes darted nervously as he turned into McKinley's parking lot. "That's okay, right? That I talked to him. Without you."

Kurt shrugged. "Let's just get to class."

As soon as they walked through the doors into the waves of whispers and poorly hidden glances, Kurt realized the whole damn town knew what day he'd been taken on. Of course they did. An abduction was big news in Lima, and it'd happened right here at William McKinley High School. Kurt knew he'd been wearing an olive jacket and tall black boots but couldn't remember what class he was supposed to be in when he ran to the choir room where Robin waited. What had Rob expected anyway? He'd acted surprised to see Kurt so early, but had he really thought he could steal Kurt away with the whole glee club there to see?

Oh.

No, Kurt realized, Robin had just expected to kill them all.

Kurt forced himself to breathe slowly, to ignore everyone's stares, to deafen himself to their whispers. He distracted himself from imagining Robin slaughtering all of his friends in front of him by remembering that no one had been hurt, not even Mr. Schuester when they met him in the hall. When Finn stopped, Kurt almost ran into him.

"What?" Kurt snapped.

"Your locker." Finn motioned to his left. "Are you—"

"Don't fucking ask." Kurt opened his locker. He stared inside it at books, photographs, and glitter. He'd been looking into the same locker since school started, but the only thing he recognized was Finn's face on a photo of the pair of them. "What do I need out of here?"

"Government and English books. Mike will walk you back over after that, and you'll get your physics and French books. French has two books." Finn watched while Kurt retrieved his books. "This too," he said before Kurt closed his locker, pulling away the photograph of the two of them grinning like idiots in the dining room of their old house after a competition.

"I doubt I need this for class, Finn."

"For the ones I don't have with you." He tried to smile but abandoned it. It left his face looking too sad. "Just keep it with you, okay."

"Fine." Kurt slammed his locker shut, and a girl three lockers down yelped. "Let's go." He scowled at the girl as he passed her on the way to government. At least he wasn't too freaked out to remember the way.

They reached the classroom with only half a minute to spare before the bell. Kurt collapsed into his usual seat, and Finn took the one to his left. Normally Puck would be to his right, but that seat remained empty.

"Where the fuck is he?" Kurt scowled, but Finn shushed him as class started. Kurt sighed and rolled his eyes because of course Puck would be late. He almost welcomed the mundane problem because at least it had no relation to serial killers.

Forty-eight minutes into the class, Puck still had not shown. Kurt fidgeted in his seat and ignored her when the teacher tried to ask him something. Eventually she moved on, but Kurt's fingers kept twitching. Puck was supposed to be there. Then the bell rang. Class was out. Puck never came. The next time Kurt could see Puck was lunch. He had three more classes before then. While Finn handed him off to Mike and Tina, Kurt pulled out his phone.

Where the fuck are you? He sent the message to Puck three times before he got a response.

It only said, fixck.

What the hell is that supposed to mean? Kurt reached his English class, but he kept his phone available. Class started, but Kurt ignored everything except the stillness of his phone. Minutes crept by. No response. Tina reached across the space between their seats to hold Kurt's hand in hers. No one complained. It didn't help a lot, but... at least the fuckup who couldn't bother to text him wasn't the only person Kurt had there for him. He knew it was harsh to think about Puck that way, but figured he could worry about that later.

Over half an hour later, Kurt's phone finally vibrated in his lap. Fucking finally, he thought, opening the message.

on my way. u ok?

Kurt wanted to scream at him that of course he wasn't fucking okay. He'd been counting on Puck. Hell, he'd probably still be at home right now if not for Puck. Tina squeezed his hand and offered a reassuring smile when he glanced at her face.

After class, Kurt stopped Mike and Tina. "I don't want to go to physics."

"Do you need to go home?" Tina asked

"No, just... not class." Kurt knew it was stupid to stay at school and not go to class.

"I guess we could hang out in the choir room," Mike suggested with a shrug.

Kurt almost agreed. "No." Last time he had skipped third period to go to the choir room. It was too close. "You should go to class. It's exam review today. At least one of us should have the notes."

"What about Miss Pillsbury's office? Then we can meet you there after physics, and you can switch over to Mr. Schue's." Tina turned slightly in the direction of each office as she mentioned them.

Kurt nodded. When they reached Miss Pillsbury's office, Tina took care of explaining while Mike and Kurt stood by the door. They waved to Kurt before leaving, though he wasn't quite sure why. He took the seat farthest from the door even though it wasn't by much, and Miss Pillsbury reclaimed the seat behind her desk.

"Kurt, do you want to talk about it?" She placed her hands lightly on the edge of her desk while she spoke, as if pressing harder would dirty them even though she kept her office spotless. He shook his head and stared at her fingernails instead of her wide eyes. "That's okay. We can do that too, just sit in silence." She retrieved a file from a drawer in her desk and a pen from the penholder. "Just let me know if you need anything, okay?" She waited for a moment but set to work on the file when Kurt didn't respond.

He pulled out his phone and texted to both Finn and Puck, I'm in Miss Pillsbury's office. Then he occupied himself for the next fifty minutes by reading a series of pamphlets he found carefully organized in sections throughout the office. Miss Pillsbury smiled when she noticed and offered him a supply of past pamphlets from her drawer. She kept sneaking in ones about depression and even one on PTSD called, "So Your Nightmares Really Happened." He thought about asking her if she had one on OCD.

Mike, Tina, and Finn all showed up when their classes let out. They ignored him when he said it didn't take three people to walk him to an office they all knew as well as Mr. Schue's. They worried over him, and Tina slipped him her notes even though he cared about as much about the physics exam as he did about Miss Pillsbury's pamphlets on dating in high school. As soon as they reached his office, Schuester joined in on the worrying. At least Miss Pillsbury could be quiet about it.

Before Kurt could think of a suitably sarcastic comment, the office door burst open as Puck hurdled through. "I'm so fucking sorry," he stammered. There was more, but Kurt didn't care to listen.

"Where the fuck have you been?" Kurt's voice was quiet but not soft.

Puck's eyes widened as he took a step back. "I'm sorry, Kurt. I..." He ran a hand through his mohawk and then tugged at it. "I had to walk."

"That counts for like one of the classes you missed, but there've been three." Finn's eyebrows pushed down toward his eyes, but somehow he still looked more hurt than angry. "You were supposed to be there for Kurt."

"I know. I fucked up. I'm sorry." Puck held his hands palms-up in front of him and stared into Kurt's eyes. Kurt wasn't interested in forgiving him. He turned his eyes to the side and stared at the wall instead of Puck. He clenched his fists and willed them not to tremble.

"I'm pretending you didn't swear for Kurt's sake right now," Schuester pointed out. "And you all need to go to class if you don't want to be late."

"I don't care about class. I care about Kurt!" Finn shouted. A thump followed the sound of his voice, and Kurt looked to see he had shoved Puck against the wall. Schuester pulled them apart, holding them at arm's length from each other.

"I said I was sorry." It sounded weak, like even Puck didn't believe it was enough.

"Then why weren't you here?" Finn looked at Puck then the way he had when he beat Puck to the floor after finding out who really fathered Quinn's child. Puck's eyes darted around the room, not looking for ways out so much as relief. They bounced from person to person but skipped the door. Kurt hardened his expression against Puck. He was supposed to be there for Kurt today. Puck's eyes settled on Kurt eventually. No one else offered him a way out. Then his eyes slid to the floor. He let out a breath as his shoulders slumped.

"I couldn't get it to stop," he said in a voice too small for his body.

"Get what to stop?" Mr. Schuester asked, and Kurt was glad because he hadn't wanted to.

Puck rubbed at the back of his neck, moved the hand over his mouth, and finally dropped it down to the front of his neck. "The bleeding." He stared at the floor.

Fuck.

Kurt launched himself forward and jerked up the sleeves of Puck's shirt. Under the first one he found only a few scars and half-healed cuts. The second arm was wrapped in the off-white cloth of a bandage, stained with spots in the dark red of dried blood.

"You're a fucking idiot." The hitch in his voice caught Kurt by surprise.

Puck laughed. It went on too long, and listening to it hurt. "Yeah."

"You were bleeding for two hours?" Finn's eyes widened as he stretched a hand forward and took a step back, too confused to know where he wanted to go.

"No, I doubt I'd have survived that. I spent most of that time passed out."

Tina pushed through the small office to give Puck a hug. Kurt should have been less surprised to realize she was crying. The bell rang as she muttered through her tears, "I hope you can be okay again."

"Yeah," Puck said as he set his arms to rest around her shoulders. "Me too."

Kurt kept his feet where they were but squatted down and wrapped his arms around his legs. He knew Puck had cut himself before. Hell, he could see it just by lifting his eyes to where Puck's arms still circled Tina. But he'd never seriously hurt himself before, never passed out or lost so much blood or, fuck, come close to dying. How much blood did he have to lose for consciousness to fade? How close was that to enough to end his life? Kurt pictured Puck sitting at the edge of his bed, knife in hand, digging into the flesh of his arm deeper and deeper as the red seeped out. He imagined the twitch in Puck's eye and the twist of his lips as he dug the blade in with a jerk and the flow of blood increased and gushed out onto the floor.

He rammed the palms of his hands against his closed eyes to block out the images. Spots appeared in the darkness of his vision, but nothing clouded the image of Puck pulling the knife out, dropping it, staring at the blood that wouldn't stop, covering it with a hand and watching it seep out between his fingers.

Today was supposed to be Kurt's day. Kurt's day to break down and give up. Puck knew that. He wanted to help Kurt. He must have been terrified. Someone was shaking Kurt by his shoulders, but Kurt ignored them. Puck had cut himself this morning to ease the stress of dealing with Kurt today. He had thought of Kurt and forced a knife so deep into his arm that he passed out from shock or blood loss.

"It wasn't you." It was just a whisper, hot breath brushing past his ear.

Kurt opened his eyes. He found Puck on the floor beside him, arms around him with the sleeves pulled back down.

"It's not your fault." Another whisper, but Kurt could hear something more behind it, a soft ringing he hadn't often recognized from Puck. Still Kurt knew it when he heard it: the ring of a lie.

"Of course it is." He turned to Puck and buried his face against his chest even though he had no right to search for comfort there. Puck tried to say something more but came up with nothing coherent.

Schuester tried to convince them to go to class but eventually settled for letting them all sit on the floor of his office. He tried to send Puck to the nurse or the hospital too, but the bleeding had stopped. Besides, Puck refused to leave Kurt's side again now that he'd finally made it there.

"You're an idiot," was all Kurt could think to say to that. Puck laughed and agreed. No one else had much to say either. They held hands and waited.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I wrote a short Teen Wolf fic recently, and I really liked it and reread it a few times over and told myself yes i did a good job now pat myself on the back. But then I read this, and it just... doesn't impress me as much as that did? At the same time, I didn't see a ton of things jump out at me and scream, "I NEED FIXING," but, I mean, they must be there somewhere or I'd be happier with it. I don't know. I don't even know why I'm bringing it up. Also: I watch Teen Wolf now. Teen Wolf is cool.
> 
> On a happier note: guys, GUYS, Brandon Sanderson finished writing A Memory of Light. It's finished, written in full. The Wheel of Time is done. (Well there are still copyedits and printing and such to do, but the story is all there.) And my name is in there somewhere. Excuse me while I fangirl.


	76. Puck: Fault

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oops, turns out I'm not done with Quinn. Somehow I can plot ahead for everyone else, and I even have an idea of where I want things to end up otherwise, but Quinn always sneaks up on me.

Puck never felt weak while he was cutting. That came later when he saw the marks it left. Sometimes he glanced down and found them waiting there just to remind him how much he must hate himself to have done that. Some of them had healed but not faded. It had seemed less real looking at them when they were only scabbed over. Scabs could still return to unbroken skin. These were scars though. Scars stayed. Puck rubbed his thumb along the first one, part of it from Kurt and part from Puck himself, both carved by the same blade. In a way, it was easier to look at the scars than at the girl sitting across from him at his mother's dining table.

"I am sorry," she said as if that were enough.

"Wow, suddenly everything is better. Look at that. Even the cuts are gone." He shoved his forearms into her field of view. "Oh, wait." He glared at her, angry that Quinn thought she could just show up and say a few words like it would change anything.

She tore her eyes from his scars and scabs and open cuts to look at the flowers on the table. Puck's mom had glued the vase he broke back together and covered the inside with some sort of sealer so it would hold water again. The cracks still stood out against the pattern of the vase.

"Remember when you brought me a flower you took from your mom? It was just like these." She reached out to lay her fingers against the petals of a rose but pulled them back again quickly.

"You told me you had to find yourself." Puck caught himself scratching at a scab and crossed his arms so he couldn't reach it.

"I never did though. All I found was you, and I tried to convince myself that was enough because it's what I do every time I like a boy." The chuckle she let out fell flat, weighed down by regret.

"What about now?"

"Well, now I don't know any guys who would date me, so maybe I'll have no choice but to figure out who I am on my own." She brushed her hair behind her ear in exactly the way Puck loved to watch. "But I came here to say that I shouldn't have taken it out on Kurt. It's not his fault you broke up with me."

"Damn straight. I think that's the first time you've ever admitted anything isn't his fault though. You should try it more often." Puck bared his teeth and hoped Quinn wouldn't mistake it for a smile.

Quinn sighed. "I know you're Jewish, but just bear with me here okay, Puck?" He shrugged and waited for her to go on with what was probably some Jesus shit. "You know how Christians have confession?"

"Yeah, you sit in a box and say how bad you are, and an old guy tells you it's all cool because Jesus."

Quinn hesitated, probably put off by Puck's shitty description of something that mattered to her. "...Close enough. But we cannot be forgiven unless we first confess. We have to admit fault within ourselves and repent."

"And Lord knows you've got plenty of fault within yourself, huh Quinn." Okay, that was mean. Puck let it stand though.

She grimaced. "I'm trying to say that, based on my own beliefs, Kurt can't be forgiven for what he's done unless he admits it was his fault, and you're acting like nothing will ever be his fault again."

Puck laughed outright at that. "First: like you care about Kurt. Honestly. Second—"

"I know you don't remember this, but I was right there with the rest of you while he was taken. I wanted him back as much as the rest of you. I—"

"Second: Kurt owns up to the blame like nobody's business. The problem is he doesn't believe in your absolution or that he even deserves to be forgiven." Puck's laughter fell into a scowl.

"It's not my fault he doesn't believe in God." She crossed her arms.

"Well, it's not his fault you do." Puck made a fist with one hand and scratched at a scab with the other.

"You believe in God," she said as though it made his defense of Kurt somehow wrong.

"I also believe I'm not allowed to eat ham." Puck rolled his eyes. "What does that matter to anyone else? Maybe it's time you practiced some of this fucking forgiveness you've been telling me about. I seem to remember he confessed a few sins to you."

"I don't..." Quinn stood and paced beside the table. "You want me to just go up to him and say, 'It's okay now, Kurt. In fact, have your knife back; you definitely deserve it for going a full month without any stabbing incidents. Congratulations!.'"

She still had the knife. That caught Puck off guard, though he wasn't sure what he expected her to do with it.

"I thought confession was the requirement for forgiveness, Quinn. He confessed, didn't he?"

"Confession and regret and striving to do better, and the confession isn't supposed to go to some girl from school." She spoke more quickly as she became flustered.

"But where in that is 'some girl from school' given the right to withhold forgiveness?"

"It's not. I don't get a say, Puck. I'm just..." Quinn stammered.

"Just a hypocrite?" He stood, shoving his chair back so far it ran into the wall. "There will never be an official heavenly memo on whether Kurt's forgiven or not, Quinn. You have to live the way you think is right, which means forgiving him. And you haven't yet because you're bitter and selfish." Puck stalked across the kitchen toward Quinn, his voice rising as he spoke. "That is why I couldn't stand to be with you anymore. Because you've become so fucking petty." It stung to say because he loved her anyway, but not as much as she wanted him to love her, not enough to be with her again. "I'm not the one you should be apologizing to, Quinn."

He wanted to march her over to Kurt right now and force her to apologize. He wanted to watch her crumble apart and admit all her mistakes. He wanted her to stop and think about how she would feel if it had been anyone but Kurt or anyone but Puck. How would she feel if it had been her? If it had been Beth?

Quinn turned away from him, back toward the roses on the table. "I don't know what to say to you, Puck."

"Try, 'Goodbye.'"

She had no right to look so sad. Everything that happened to her, she brought on herself. Still, each of her features fell just a little until she was left staring at the floor ready to cry. "Goodbye," she choked out as she turned and bolted for the door.

Puck rubbed roughly at the large bandage covering where he'd cut himself on the twenty-seventh as he stomped down the hall to his room. It would be easier if he could just be over Quinn already. Seeing her cry, or almost cry, still hurt. Puck wanted her to be happy. He also wanted her to be the person she was supposed to be instead of the bitchy little brat he'd recently realized he was dating. Most of all, he wanted her to apologize to Kurt so they could be friends again. Then maybe he could fantasize a threesome in there somewhere even though he knew it couldn't happen in reality. The idea of Quinn and Kurt fighting over who got to tie Puck down and how was hot though, so he didn't think anyone could hold a harmless bit of imagination against him.

Once he had sprawled on his bed, Puck rubbed himself through his jeans. He glanced at the door to make sure it was locked as he unzipped his pants because hell, he'd rather get this out of a fight with Quinn than have to actually think about what it meant that she'd come over today. Then he stopped and turned his eyes from the door to where his hand dipped into his boxers. It wasn't just Quinn.

Accepting that he loved Kurt had taken Puck a while, but he had... eventually. He'd also begun to assume it was mostly asexual love because when he thought of being with Kurt, kisses and cuddles were as heated as it got. But he was hard now, and when he stopped thinking about Quinn and imagined Kurt strolling in, dressed all in leather with a pair of handcuffs and a devilish smirk, Puck realized he could absolutely jerk off to this. So he did.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I am not an expert on Confession, and even if I was, I'm not sure what denomination Quinn is. I'm pretty sure the version most often featured in movies is Catholic Confession, so that'd be what Puck tried to describe regardless of what Quinn actually meant. Fortunately this is from Puck's POV, so I didn't have to explain. XP


	77. Kurt: The Only One

"You know I hate you, right?" Kurt scowled. The last thing he wanted to deal with today was Quinn Fabray. He lounged on his bed and wished really hard that she would disappear.

"I don't hate you." Instead of disappearing, she pulled over his computer chair and sat down facing where Kurt lay on the bed. "I know I haven't been a good friend lately, but I don't actually hate you."

"When were we ever friends?" Kurt stretched his arms above his head, both to make himself more comfortable and to show them off. He knew the sight of his skin—the punctures and ridges added to his skin—made people uncomfortable, and for once he was glad someone had walked in on him in just his undershirt. The motion pulled up the bottom of his shirt, baring his midriff and the scars there too.

Quinn stared but didn't flinch. It would have to do. "You let the others call you friends. Even you and Puck weren't close before."

"Believe me when I say I questioned his motives."

"And I questioned his sanity." Quinn took a deep breath and folded her hands in her lap. "I went to see Puck because... well, because I wanted him to take me back."

"He won't."

"I know." She closed her eyes, took in a deep breath, and let it back out before continuing. "He told me I was talking to the wrong person."

Kurt rolled his eyes. "At this point I don't think any of your exes are taking you back." He smirked because she fucking deserved it.

"That I was apologizing to the wrong person. I didn't tell him I wanted to date again, Kurt. I think I missed my chance already." What right did she have to look so sad over that?

"You think?" Kurt widened his eyes and let his mouth hang open in mimicry of shock.

Quinn let out a frustrated squeal. "Why do you have to make everything so difficult?" She stood and began pacing as she spoke. "I came here to tell you I'm sorry and to admit that I haven't been fair to you in all this because I felt threatened, okay. Because I saw this coming before either you or Puck did, and instead of stopping it by being a person Puck could love, I just let it make me bitter and jealous."

That surprised Kurt so much that he bolted upright before remembering he was lazing about to annoy Quinn. "Jealous?" He scoffed. "Of fucking me?"

"Of how devoted Puck is to you." She stopped pacing.

"Wanna trade?" He held his scarred arms up in offering.

Quinn shook her head. She sighed, retaking her seat beside the bed, and Kurt leaned back on his elbow. "I'm sorry, Kurt."

"Wow, this must be hard for you."

"Shut up." She rolled her eyes. "I talk like I believe in forgiveness, but I denied it to you because of my own problems. You don't deserve that. I'm sorry."

"I don't want your forgiveness, Quinn." Kurt sat up again and leaned forward, pressing his chest against his thighs and wrapping his arms around his legs.

"I didn't expect you to. You have it anyway. I... I don't expect to have earned yours."

"Why are you doing this? You're a bitch, Quinn. Why bother pretending otherwise?" Kurt glared at her as his fingers twitched.

"I know who I am, Kurt, but I want to be more than just who I've been. I'm tired of driving everyone away because I can't bother to be a decent person, and I don't want to live my life all alone when I don't have to."

"So it's still selfish?"

"Most things are." She said with a shrugged.

Kurt chuckled. "Fair enough."

"I said what I wanted to say, so... I guess I'll go." Quinn picked her purse of the floor by the chair and stood.

"I raped someone. Puck wasn't the first time I tried it."

The purse fell back to the ground. Quinn stood frozen, staring at Kurt in shock and... fear. "What?"

"His name was Jack. Robin had him brought in and chained down just for me, and I rammed my dick in his ass as he begged me to stop."

Quinn collapsed back into the chair. Kurt almost wished she'd missed it and hit the floor.

"Jack begged me to save him. I told him I couldn't. Robin was too strong. Kitty was at the door with a gun. I tried to tell Rob that I couldn't rape Jack. Physically couldn't, but he held me while I did it, and when I had trouble staying hard, he stroked me and breathed in my ear and along the back of my neck until I could get back to fucking."

"Kurt," Quinn choked on his name, and Kurt saw her throat clench around whatever else she wanted to say.

"When we were done, Robin told me we had to kill him. I didn't want to, but Robin made me cut him. We missed at first because I was being a little bitch. Rob told me Jack was going to die slowly now, that it would hurt. I told him to fix it, and that's how I knew how to slit a throat when the time came to do the same to Robin."

"Why are you telling me this?" Quinn leaned forward to clutch at the bed, though Kurt suspected she wanted to run away instead. He wondered how long it would be before her legs worked again.

"In the time after we raped and murdered Jack to the time when Kitty brought in Puck, Robin didn't bring me any more innocents to ruin. If he had, I think I would have done it. I don't even think I'd have complained or asked for help. I'd just have done it." He barked out a broken laugh. "Hell, I was set to do it to Puck when Robin told me to. I didn't want to, but I would have."

This time she screamed, "WHY ARE YOU TELLING ME THIS?"

"Because you're the only one I can count on not to tell me it isn't my fault." He felt the tears in his eyes and blinked them back. "So tell me, Quinn, do you forgive me now?"

She froze with her fists clenched around his sheets and her eyes locked on his face, breathing heavily and blinking rapidly. Finally, she took a final breath and spoke, "Are you sorry?"

"What?" She was supposed to cry or some shit, not ask questions. She was supposed to hate him forever and never care again.

"Are you sorry you did those things? Will you never do them again?" He watched as she calmed herself, slowed her breathing, leaned back in the chair, returned her hands to rest in her lap like a good little girl.

"Of course I'm fucking sorry. I'm a hell of a lot more than sorry. I'm ruined, Quinn." He leaned toward her so she couldn't create more space between them just by sitting up.

"Then I forgive you." She sounded as surprised as he was.

"Don't you dare fucking tell me it's not my fault after everything you've done already."

"I won't." Quinn looked down at her hands, but after a moment, she turned her eyes to Kurt again. "You had a choice Kurt. Not much of a choice since the alternative was death, but you had a choice. You made it. You let him make you into a rapist and a murderer. But it's not who you are anymore, so you deserve to be forgiven."

"It's not as simple as that."

"I would have agreed with you a few days ago." She stood and closed the distance between them so she could sit on the bed. "You did terrible things to survive, Kurt, but you don't do them anymore. You're a good person. Damaged, but still good." She set her hand atop his and squeezed gently. "I'm sorry I ever helped you think otherwise."

Kurt didn't know what to say. He couldn't just admit that he wanted her to hate him so he could feel justified in hating himself. "You too," he said finally.

"I think they say it wasn't your fault because they want you to forgive yourself."

Kurt laughed bitterly. "Of course they do."

"What do you think happens if you forgive yourself, Kurt?"

"I don't know." A lie.

"Yes you do. You don't have to tell me, but it might help to tell someone."

Kurt had no one else to tell, no one who would even try to hate him the way he hated himself. "I become like him. He never blamed himself. He never cared." He liked it. Kurt shuddered.

"You couldn't be like him if you tried, Kurt." She squeezed his hand again.

"I could—"

"Even if you did all the same things he did," she cut him off, "You would feel differently about them. So you'd be a monster, but not the same kind of monster he was."

Kurt laughed. "It's kind of nice to hear someone use me and monster in the same sentence."

"Don't get used to it." Quinn paused, biting at her lip. "I don't know if we can ever be good friends, Kurt, but if you want me to be, I'll be here for you. And I promise not to lie to you, not even if I think it will help you."

"Thanks." Kurt considered letting her go then. That would be too easy though, and he might as well test this honesty. "Am I bad for Puck?"

"I should have seen that coming." She sighed. "You have been, maybe you will be again. Right now, he needs you."

"Did I make him worse?" Kurt already knew the answer, but he wanted to hear it from the person who had made herself Puck's protector.

"Yes."

"Can I help him get better?"

"Yes," she nodded as she spoke. "You can also help him get worse. So be better for him than I was."

Kurt leaned forward and pulled Quinn in for a hug. "Thanks," he said into her hair. "But you're still a bitch."

"So are you. Maybe it'll give us something to bond over."

Kurt laughed. "Now go tell Mercedes we talked. I'm too exhausted, and she's going to want details."

Quinn laughed too, but it was the shaken sound of nervous laughter. "She's going to expect us to go shopping with her now. Together."

"... We could be enemies again," Kurt suggested.

"I'd rather not, if we can help it." Her smile faltered. "I'll talk to Mercedes, but... will you talk to Puck?"

"Why? Do you want me to put in a good word for you?" Kurt beat down a pang of jealously, telling himself it was stupid because he and Puck were not happening as a couple.

"No. I'm better off single for a while. I just want to be friends with him again."

"I'll tell him."

"Thank you." She retrieved her purse again. Before leaving, she turned to face him one more time and said, "I think you should try it."

"Try what?"

"To forgive yourself. Puck was right when he said you deserve it." She smiled sadly and turned on her heel without waiting for an answer. She probably knew Kurt would only have told her to go fuck herself.

Kurt leapt off his bed and jerked off his undershirt. He stood in front of the mirror and studied himself, studied his scars. He hated them. His fingers traced the lines of his hate. This one he got because he tried to run. This one because Robin was bored. He reached up to his neck. This one because he had throat surgery. It didn't feel right, that scar sitting next to the others. He traced another along his abdomen that Rob had given him while they fucked Jack. He deserved that one for what he had done. But then how many of these had he earned? If he ran, was it his fault or Robin's? Did he retroactively earn scars by killing Kitty and Robin? Maybe Puck had it right to make his own scars.

No.

Fuck.

Kurt crouched on the floor in front of his mirror and gripped his head between his hands. He was past thinking that way. Even worse, it would only hurt Puck. He couldn't afford to hurt Puck any more. He couldn't afford to do anything anymore. Why couldn't he just be fucking okay again? Not even healthy or happy or who he used to be, but just okay. He cried on the floor, staring at himself in the mirror, and hoped no one would walk in because he needed them to think he was okay. If nothing else, let them believe that I am okay, he begged silently even though he had no one to beg to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am honestly not sure what people are going to think about the direction I'm taking these two characters. Um. I hope you're cool with it?


	78. Puck: Who You Are

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aw, man, I was rereading some old chapters the other day, and I kinda miss my villains.

He lay in Kurt's bed wondering if Kurt had ever masturbated just there. Then he remembered Kurt telling him he was afraid to even touch himself anymore, that he generally came in his sleep or not at all. That had been a while ago. Puck wondered if Kurt had ever moved on from that. He shifted onto his side so he faced Kurt where he lay on the other side of the bed.

"What?" Kurt raised an eyebrow.

"What?" Puck wondered if something in his expression gave away what he'd been thinking.

Kurt rolled his eyes and propped himself up on an elbow so he looked down on Puck. "You're staring. What do you want?"

"Maybe I just like to look at you."

"No it was definitely a question kind of looking. Spill it."

Puck licked his lips. "It isn't—"

"Don't you dare tell me it's not important."

"—appropriate."

"Oh." Kurt scratched at his wrist. "I thought you agreed just friends was best."

With a heavy sigh, Puck rolled onto his back to stare at the ceiling again. "Well I wasn't trying to ask you, was I?"

The mattress bounced as Kurt dropped back down beside him. "Fuck, now I want to know what it was."

"You don't," Puck warned.

"Just tell me. Or ask me. Or whatever."

Puck half-shrugged as best he could while lying down. "I was wondering if you ever started jerking yourself off again."

"What?" Kurt sat up again to stare down at Puck in something between confusion and distaste.

"Well you told me you had stopped, and I was just wondering if that was still a thing for you... I told you it wasn't appropriate." Puck regretted rolling over now. This was awkward. Beyond awkward.

"You... you think about me masturbating."

"Apparently." Still awkward.

"Why?"

"I don't understand the question." Why the fuck wouldn't he think about Kurt masturbating? Then again, why did he ever admit to it?

"I assumed you were interested in me because we've shared probably too much since you found me in New York." Kurt fidgeted with his arm warmers.

"I'm sure that's part of it." Every once in a while Puck wondered if he would ever have fallen for Kurt if not for everything that had happened. It made his head hurt though, so he never kept at it long.

"But why would you think about me physically?"

"Oh." It made more sense now. "Yeah I didn't think for a long time I was interested sexually either, you know. Because, dude, you're a dude. But I guess I just never bothered to consider it because I liked girls and didn't want to bother facing what liking dudes too would mean, y'know."

"But me though."

"Yes, you...?" Puck was missing something here. He waited, hoping Kurt would offer clarification.

"Puck you know what I look like. I'm..." Kurt wrapped his arms around himself. "Ugly." Something deep and painful lurked behind that word. Puck thought it might have worn Banks' twisted grin.

"There's gotta be something wrong with your mirror." Kurt had always been pretty as a girl. Puck guessed Banks must have done something to make Kurt think otherwise, but he was short of figuring out how when Kurt responded.

"Maybe you've had the luxury of forgetting, but I am fucking covered in scars." Kurt tore his shirt off, and it took the arm warmers with it.

"I didn't forget." He'd been a moron not to realize that was what Kurt meant, but it didn't mean he'd forgotten. He pictured Kurt as he first saw him after being kidnapped, naked, scarred, sitting and waiting for Robin Banks to ruin him some more because it was the only thing he knew how to do anymore. "They don't make you ugly."

"You'll have to explain that. The scars are ugly. Their origins are ugly. So how is it I'm not made ugly by having them?" Kurt hissed as he spoke, and his mouth twisted into a sneer. "They certainly don't make me look any prettier."

"I remember sitting with you in the living room of your family's old house and thinking how I wished I was gay so I could tell you you're still beautiful even with the scars." Puck laughed far too close to bitterly. "That's a fucking stupid thing to think because you don't have to want to fuck someone to know they're attractive, and also apparently I'm hot for you anyway, so..." he shrugged.

"Oh, God, don't say you're hot for me." Kurt cringed. "It's weird."

"Oh, so I'm hot, and you're bothered." Puck waggled his eyebrows suggestively.

"Fuck, why would you say that?" Kurt collapsed back onto the bed with his face buried in his hands.

"I'm just messing with you, Kurt. You can relax." Puck wasn't about to try anything now that he knew Kurt had no interest in dating him, but what kind of friend would he be if he never teased Kurt when he'd honestly walked right into it?  
Kurt peeked out from behind his fingers. "You do think I'm attractive though? Physically, I mean."

Puck nodded. If he could, he'd have shown Kurt. He wanted to press their bodies and lips together, and run his hands across Kurt's skin. He took advantage of Kurt hiding his face again to study him. Kurt was still thin and would always have a lithe build, but there was more muscle on him than Puck would have expected. More than he remembered from Banks' hotel room too, so he guessed that Kurt must have been working out since returning. It felt weird to Puck that he wouldn't have known that. Too little fat covered the muscle though. This time Puck wasn't surprised; he'd have been more shocked to find that Kurt was eating enough.

"You're staring." Kurt had uncovered his eyes.

Puck shrugged and punctuated the motion with a smirk. "You're the one who provided the view."

"I don't like when people stare." He sat up and curled forward like he could hide away if only he made himself small enough.

"I think I was looking at something different than what you were thinking of." When Kurt only stared at him like a moron, Puck added, "I wasn't looking at the scars."

"I don't think that's possible." Kurt rubbed at the messy scars on his wrist, the ones left by two months of rope and metal digging into the skin there.

"I was looking past them. Don't laugh. It's not that hard."

Kurt laughed anyway. "And what exactly do you see behind the scars, Puck?"

"You're fucking sexy but a bit underfed. Also pale, but you've always been that." Puck crossed his arms over his chest and made a point of studying Kurt's naked torso as he spoke.

"Too much sun is bad for your skin. Stop fucking staring, Puck." He scowled.

"Then put a shirt on." Puck wondered if it was weird to want to lick Kurt's chest. "And you never answered my question." Yes, he decided, it was probably weird, about as weird as the question was awkward. He still wanted to do it though, and to know the answer.

"Do I masturbate? Yes. It's helped my sheets a lot." He hands twitched while he said it.

"Do you think about him?"

"Oh God, when you say it like that it sounds like he's my ex and you're fucking jealous." Kurt groaned.

Puck only shrugged. He nearly asked if he should be jealous, but he'd teased Kurt enough for one day (for a whole month, probably). Neither of them wanted to hear the answer to that question anyway. Puck remembered that Kurt had explained Banks away to Meg in New York as his abusive ex-boyfriend.

"Never mind," he said instead of pushing on. Kurt thought enough about Robin Banks without Puck asking questions like this. He dropped onto his back and stared at the ceiling above Kurt's bed.

"It's your responsibility to change the subject now," Kurt said, prodding Puck's side with his elbow. "Since you're the one who made it a stupid one."

"Fine." Puck bit his lip, trying to think of something other than Super Mario Brothers because that never went over well with Kurt. "Did you think more about what Quinn told you?"

"Really? You couldn't talk about something normal? Like school or the weather?" The mattress bounced as Kurt shifted heavily, but Puck kept his gaze on the ceiling.

"School sucks. Weather sucks. When have we ever had a normal conversation?" He turned his head to find Kurt on his side facing Puck. "So what about Quinn?"

"Quinn said a lot of things."

"I mean the part about forgiving yourself." Puck reached forward to grasp Kurt's hand. "What's the difference between Kurt Hummel and Alex Hood?"

"There isn't one." The words were bitter. "I only fooled myself into thinking there was."

"But you wanted there to be?"

"Of course I fucking wanted there to be." Kurt sneered but left his hand in Puck's.

"Why?"  
"Because I wanted to be someone else." Kurt's hand trembled. "I wanted to be someone who could never be hurt. Or whose hurt could never reach me, at least. A lot of fucking good it did."

"Why did you change back?"

"You were there, moron."

Puck rolled his eyes. "Just answer the question."

"Because I realized I wasn't..." His shoulders lifted and fell in a shrug, but he didn't continue.

"You weren't what? Alex?"

Kurt shook his head. He lunged forward to bury his face against Puck's chest. "Robin."

"Then why haven't you forgiven yourself?" Puck pressed a hand into Kurt's hair.

When Kurt answered, sobs choked his voice. "What if I was wrong?"

"You weren't," Puck promised in a whisper. After all this time, he had thought maybe Kurt began to move on, to see himself as something other than the shadow following a monster in the night. "You can't be like him, Kurt. It hurts you to watch people suffer." He stroked Kurt's hair and hoped they were the right words at last.

"But I hurt people anyway. I hurt you." His voice was small.

"You couldn't hurt me the way he wanted you to. The pain isn't who you are." His own words echoed back to Puck in his mind. The pain isn't who you are. He tried to ignore the itching of his forearms as Kurt huddled against his chest. They lay together in silence since neither had more to say.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, um, I think this thing is going to be 82 chapters in total. I won't swear to it because things could change in editing, but that's how it looks right now.
> 
> We're almost there, guys.


	79. Kurt: Fear

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So far I'm still happy with what I wrote for the end. I've edited bits and pieces (and corrected way too many tense errors), but I think the majority of it will be okay. This means we're on track, and I shouldn't need too long between these last few updates.

It had felt strange calling Quinn and asking her to come over, but Kurt couldn't discuss this with Puck. Maybe Puck wouldn't understand or maybe Kurt wasn't ready. Either way, he needed someone else, someone who would listen without ignoring how... wrong it was.

"Have you been crying, Kurt?" She asked, as if his puffy red eyes and the pile of tissues in his trashcan left any room for doubt.

"What are you afraid of?" Kurt asked instead of answering.

"Excuse me?"

"Everyone's afraid of something. What is it for you?" He rubbed his hands up and down his arms even though he wasn't cold under the three layers of cloth that covered them.

"Being alone and unloved for the rest of my life." She sat down on the bed, hands folded primly in her lap. "Why?" Kurt hadn't expected her to answer honestly, much less so calmly, but he remembered Puck ranting about how calm Quinn seemed sometimes when she was trying so hard to help him instead of to be herself. Kurt hoped she would shake that habit with him; he wanted her around because she was a bitch, not because she was willing to be nice.

"The pain isn't who I am," he whispered. "But maybe the fear is."

She paused, probably lost without the context of Kurt's conversations with Puck. "Whose fear?"

Clever. Would anyone else have known to ask? Kurt hesitated even though he'd asked Quinn over specifically to talk this out. "Everyone's. Mine and theirs."

"You mean because you're afraid of Robin Banks?" It was weird how everyone called him by his full name, Robin Banks. The weirdest part might have been that she didn't even hear the joke in it anymore. Robin Banks has been robbin' banks, Kurt thought to himself instead of answering. "Kurt," Quinn said sharply, "You asked me here. Don't ignore me."

He flinched. "Sorry. Robin's dead; I don't have to fear him anymore." Kurt saw the question in Quinn's eyes: If not Robin, then who? Or what? "I mean fear of me." There. It was out. Too late to take it back, too late to deny it, too late to pretend it never existed.

"You're afraid of yourself?" She reached out to take Kurt's hand but let him pull away easily.

"I don't know most of their names, but a few people at school are afraid of me. It started in my first day back when I attacked Strando." He remembered the shift, the way people had looked at him first as some sort of novelty, a circus freak for their amusement, and then they way their eyes widened and they took a step back as he approached after they saw him claw at Strando's face. He remembered a boy who always stared at Kurt's feet and walked as far across the hall from him as possible. He remembered a girl who flinched every time he looked at her. Most of all he remembered the way it felt, like he could taste their fear, draw it into himself and subsist on it alone. It felt like power. "Not now, but there were a few times when Puck was afraid of me too. And you, you've been afraid."

"People fear what they don't understand, Kurt. You can't help—"

"That's not what I mean. I..." He thought—hoped—Quinn would understand. She was head bitch in charge of McKinley before she got pregnant, and she'd had people terrified of crossing her then. It wasn't the same. Kurt knew that, but still he hoped. "I like when people are afraid." He took a long, shuddering breath as Quinn stared at him. "I like the way it feels."

"That's why you're afraid of yourself." Her eyes flicked down to Kurt's hands and then her own. "You're afraid it makes you like him." She didn't have to say who she meant. Everything with Kurt came down to Robin in the end.

"I know I'm like him." He raised a hand to stop Quinn before she could protest. "Not exactly like him, just in little ways." He dropped his hand to clutch at the comforter on his bed. "I know that people have little things in common all the time without it meaning anything. It's just... I could be more like him. Not in a weird hypothetical but more like I know I'm capable because I've done... things and survived. I could do them again, and I would survive that too."

"But you're not going to, are you?" She spoke like she was certain, like she was just prodding him to realize what she already knew, but Kurt saw in the way she tensed up as he spoke and the narrowing of her eyes that Quinn still had doubts.

"Of course not." Robin wasn't there to make him. How different would Kurt be if he was? Rob had been trying to mold Kurt into someone like Kitty, Jace, and Todd, someone who would follow him and work for him. Kurt wasn't afraid of those three though, wasn't worried about turning into them. If Rob were alive, would Kurt still worry about turning into him?

Would he hope for it?

"Why are you so afraid of becoming something if you know you won't?" Quinn had dropped the calm facade and now sounded like she was talking to a dense child.

Kurt struggled for an answer. "I got lucky when Puck found me. If he hadn't, I would never have come home. I'm sure now that I won't do the things Robin did, but that's only because I've been here and had people to help me." Puck hadn't been so lucky in the time since he found Kurt though. As Kurt slowly got better, Puck slowly got worse. Kurt shook himself, but the guilt hung on. "But..." His throat tightened on the words, choking him of breath.

"Kurt are you...?" Quinn leaned forward to press a hand against his knee.

"What if Jace didn't call Rob that night? What if Robin stayed and made me fucking rape Puck? What if he made me kill Puck after? What if no one ever saved me? What if I kept working for him? What if I started liking it? Maybe I won't now, but if that happened, I could have... I could have been like Robin." It all came out in a rush before he could lose his breath again. He stared, gasping, at Quinn, eyes wide, hands shaking, hoping for something without knowing what.

Quinn's eyes opened as wide as Kurt's, and her mouth clamped shut. Her hand shot off Kurt's knee to find Kurt's hand and grip it tight. "That didn't happen. It doesn't matter," she said with a conviction Kurt would never have expected from her. "You'll just drive yourself crazy if you let everything that could have happened matter as much as what actually did."

"Well, fuck, who did you almost kill?" Kurt asked when he couldn't work out why Quinn cared so much about this part of their discussion. What about could-have-been's made them a touchier subject than rape and murder?

"Beth," she answered so quickly Kurt knew she hadn't even had time to process the idea of hiding it from him. Quinn yelped and slapped a hand over her mouth.

Kurt raised an eyebrow. "So you're saying you, what, considered an abortion? And that's basically the same as my hypothetical sadistic torture and murder spree?"

"In that neither of them did or ever will happen, yes." Quinn stared at her hands as she wrung them in her lap. "I was being stupid and weak, and I thought better of it, and that's not important right now. This is supposed to be about you." She glanced up through her eyelashes. "And no offense, Kurt, but I don't want to go into the abortion debate with you."

"Oh, good, because I am so not fucking up for any sanctity of replicating cells because God said so crap." Kurt glared at Quinn when she opened her mouth, probably to defend her beliefs, but she backed down. "But you at least had some pretty firm beliefs that kept you from doing anything you'd regret. I didn't. It was someone else who stopped me."

"If you were so ruined already, then why did you help Puck get away?"

"I..." Kurt paused. He remembered feeling empty except for Robin, like nothing else could matter except doing whatever he wanted. Kurt remembered believing he was doomed to spend the rest of his life as Rob's plaything. But then he had seen Puck, and he had wanted something else. It only amounted to helping Puck instead of hurting him at first, but it was enough. "He reminded me who I am."

"How?"

Kurt shrugged. "He didn't do anything. I just... didn't want to hurt him, and knowing I was still capable of that—of wanting to help someone—was enough, I guess."

"If he didn't do anything, then it was you, Kurt." Quinn leaned forward again. "You saved yourself. Because you aren't like Banks."

"But I don't think I'd have done it without Puck. I didn't with... with Jack." He licked his lips nervously. Kurt knew he was pushing Quinn, trying to find the one thing that would make her condemn him because if she did so now, after claiming to forgive him, then he'd have an excuse to condemn himself too. He knew what he was doing, knew it was self-destructive and stupid. He continued anyway.

"The point of forgiveness isn't that you're always right. It's that you can make up for being wrong." Quinn said, her voice muted with unexpected sadness.

"I guess it wouldn't exist otherwise." Kurt tried out a smile, but it fell away from him. "I've never wanted it, you know."

"Everyone wants to be forgiven."

"No," Kurt said, pulling back from Quinn. "Not everyone does. I've never wanted to be forgiven because it means I have to be a good person again. Forgiveness for most of the people I know means ignoring that bad part of my life and rewinding to before I ever met Robin. It's not about me; it's about them. It's easier if we pretend I can be happy again."

"What about from Puck? He forgives you too." She crossed her arms.

"I didn't ask him to. Most of what I've done to Puck was to try to make sure he wouldn't forgive me." Kurt scowled. "I've been trying to make people hate me ever since I came back." Even though she didn't say it, Kurt could practically hear Quinn wondering why. "It's easier to believe I deserve to be hated." Kurt still had nightmares about Robin, but there were others too. Nightmares about Kurt. He didn't need Rob to be a monster. He knew how it worked, could do it himself. There was some part of him, buried deep under the scars and the roiling mass of pain, fear, and what his friends called his kindness, that was all darkness, like Robin's shadow cast on Kurt's soul. That part of him, he knew, could hurt people, could enjoy it. That was what left Kurt trembling and drenched in cold sweat in the middle of the night. No matter how much everyone said his nature was good enough to cancel out the bad, that darkness refused to leave, so Kurt thought maybe it was the stronger of the two. "It's easier to give up than to keep fighting knowing that if I go on, I'll never be allowed to stop."

"You haven't stopped fighting yet."

"I never managed to convince anyone that I should." He barked out something like a laugh. "I thought I did with you, but apparently not."

Quinn bit her lip thoughtfully. "Why does it have to be based on someone else though? Why did you never decide on your own to give up on yourself?"

"You ask more questions than my therapist." Kurt rolled his eyes.

"I doubt it. Now answer." She tapped her foot, waiting for Kurt to go on.

"I don't know. Maybe I needed a second opinion." Kurt fidgeted, scratching at his wrists through the long sleeves that stretched over them to reach halfway across his palms.

Quinn let out a world-weary sigh. "Do you know how you look right now?" Kurt shook his head. He wasn't interested in guessing games. "You look like you're lying."

"I never thought about it, so how am I supposed to know?"

"It's your mind Kurt." She stared him down as if her being angry enough would help him have some sort of epiphany.

"That doesn't mean much. It's the same mind that developed romantic feelings for a man after I carved my name on his chest and slit his throat."

"Holy shit." Quinn rarely swore, and the way her eyes widened and she pulled back as the words fell out of her was so ridiculously comical that Kurt couldn't help but laugh. "Are you baiting me or something, or...?"

"No I really did. I also inserted a knife into his anal cavity before I killed him. The same knife Puck gave you." He smirked.

"You're definitely trying to scare me again." She jabbed a finger into the air in front of Kurt.

"Yes, but I'm telling the truth too." He shrugged, realizing he didn't even care. He told Quinn something horrific that he never wanted anyone to know, and... didn't care. He studied her as they both processed what he'd said. They weren't really friends regardless of how much he might share with her. Quinn was just a voice he needed, one that told him he could go on without ignoring that he had been wrong before. She didn't need to be a person or a friend for him at all, just a voice.

"You still didn't answer my question," she said. "I think it's because you're afraid to admit to having hope."

"That's ridiculous." Kurt sneered as he rolled his eyes. "I changed my name back, didn't I? That's basically the definition of hoping I could be like myself again."

"Do you have any idea how much time you spend telling people you're never going to be like yourself again? You've even started using the scars like weapons, showing them off at just the right moment to remind someone else of what you can't get away from." She frowned. "You're trying to avoid hope because it's easier not to have to live up to any standards."

"Fuck you, Quinn." Kurt stood just to get further away from her. "It's hard enough just trying not to be a fucking basketcase. Where do you get off expecting me to magically stop worrying and be somehow okay and happy?" He didn't care that part of what she said was just the echo of what he'd already told her. Enough of it was different.

"I wasn't saying I wanted it." She left her seat behind to follow Kurt across the room. "I was saying you want it. You want to be happy, and you're too scared of falling short to admit it. So you keep trying to find someone to justify your refusal to take back your life."

"It doesn't matter what you think I want if it's not something I can ever—" Kurt stopped short when he found his hand in his pocket, fingers trying to wrap around something that wasn't there anymore. The knife. He yanked his hand out of his pocket like he'd been burned but then turned it over, slowly, in front of his eyes to stare at it as though the hand had reached for a weapon on its own.

"Stop right now," Quinn hissed, grabbing hold of his hand. "Don't you dare start that again."

"Start what?" He pulled his hand away from her and cradled it against his chest.

"I know you used to keep a knife in your pocket; I saw you throw it away. So don't you dare pretend you were actually going to hurt me." Her voice rose to a shout. "I won't let you get away with it, not after I've been telling you to stop looking for excuses to hate yourself."

She was right. He had reached for it because having a blade made him feel safe and she had made him feel threatened, not because he wanted to fight her off. He'd not have been threatened unless she was right. Kurt looked into Quinn's eyes, hoping to understand something there. Was she right? His mind latched onto something else she had said, and Kurt welcomed the distraction. "You saw me throw it away?" He had dropped it into the trash can of the choir room after listening to Puck sing "One Last Breath." If she saw... "Did you take it? I went back for it later, and it was gone. Was it you?"

"Yes." She stepped back. "I'm not sure why, except that I didn't want you to get it back. You wouldn't have thrown it away like that unless it was important somehow, and... the timing made me think it might have something to do with Puck too."

Kurt nodded. Everything had to do with Puck somehow, or at least it did now. "He... held it for me, like he did with the other one we gave you. Do you," he paused, licked his lips, and dropped his hand to his side. "Do you still have them?"

"I'm not sure what to do with them," she admitted, "But I won't be giving them back to you or Puck." She took a deep breath. "Kurt." She paused until he looked her in the eyes. "Do you want to help Puck?"

"Of course I do. He's—"

"Then you have to help yourself too." She raised a hand to keep him from interrupting her the way she had interrupted him. "You have to be a better person in order to be good for him. So if you aren't willing to fight for yourself, maybe you should fight for him."

Kurt crossed his arms and glared. "Is it really fair for you to say that?"

"No." Quinn didn't even look guilty. "Everyone's given you so much space though, that maybe you need to be told you're not allowed to be broken anymore."

"It's not that simple. I can't just magically be better," Kurt growled.

"You're already better than you were before. Honestly, except for refusing to admit how far you've come, you're doing fantastic. You're damaged, Kurt, but you're not broken anymore." The emotion in Quinn's voice caught Kurt off guard, but he couldn't bring himself to care beyond trying to decipher if she was angry or proud. She should not have been capable of projecting both emotions at once.

"I..." He needed to say something, needed to argue with her, but nothing came to mind. Nothing. He opened and closed his mouth, trying to force something out, until, finally, he realized he couldn't argue because he wanted her to be right. "I don't want to be broken anymore," he whispered. "But... isn't that too much to hope for?"

"No, it isn't."

Kurt couldn't decide if that was the answer he wanted, but somehow it had become the one he believed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...Guys I don't think you understand. This is the LAST climactic confrontation. Everything else is falling action and resolution. Dude, is this even climactic enough for that? I mean, not much is gonna live up to murdering a psychopath, and this final portion of the story is naturally much... I guess softer than early ones. I just hope in the end, it doesn't come off as too anticlimactic.
> 
> This story was an experiment in a lot of ways, and after trying to write out a long, slow, and as truthful as I could make it progression of healing, I see why we get the Hollywood version from a storytelling standpoint. I also see why the stories focus on either the trauma or the healing with the other as more of a hint. The tone literally makes it feel like two stories (in this case, it might be more like three: The Robin chapters, the Alex chapters, and the Kurt chapters).
> 
> Anyway, I'm talking too much. Next time is Carole Hudson's first and only viewpoint chapter.


	80. Carole: The Strong One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So apparently I've been spelling it wrong, and the character from Glee uses an 'e' on the end of her name. :/ "Carole" looks weirdly like "casserole" to me though, which is why I previously assumed it was "Carol."
> 
> StormsInNeverland (on FFnet) actually requested that I add a bit more Carole to my story. Initially, I wasn't sure there was room, but I guess just having the idea in my head helped me find some. :P

One day Carole would figure out just how Finn managed to leave every pair of pants with one leg inside-out and the other inside-in. She shook her head and fixed the messed up leg before dropping the jeans into the wash. She knew Finn was plenty old enough to do his own laundry. But he would be leaving home for college at the end of the year, and it felt like she wouldn't need to miss him so much if she could take care of things for him for a little bit longer. That... and Finn would have worn those jeans until they began to stink before he did his own laundry. Carole chuckled to herself as she sorted out a white undershirt for the next load and dropped a bright T-shirt into the current one.

When she heard the click of the utility room door, Carole turned away from the used clothes to find Kurt watching her. She smiled and waved for him to come over. If he'd meant to do laundry, he would have brought his hamper, but his hands were empty. Only his eyes were full; Carole could spot questions from a mile away. She smiled warmly for him. Kurt would ask his question when he was ready, and until he was, Carole would continue with Finn's laundry. She'd have offered to do Kurt's too, but he liked to do his own. Too much control had been taken from him, and Kurt liked to reclaim what he could, even in little ways.

"How did you do it?" Kurt began, and Carole turned her attention to him once more. "When I was gone, I know it had to be you who held them together. But how?"

It wasn't what she had expected. "I just made sure I was always there for them."

"Did you tell them it would be okay?" Kurt rubbed at his wrists.

"No," she said. The whole family knew better than that; they had all lost people before. "I told them we would get through it."

Kurt nodded, and Carole could see that he understood the difference.

"I may have... motivated your father on occasion by implying you were going to come home eventually though." Sometimes Carole had lain awake at night worrying about too much false hope, but hope was the only thing that kept Burt going sometimes. Regardless, he was no child. He always knew there was a chance Kurt was gone for good no matter what Carole helped him believe. "Not with Finn though. He would have believed me."

Kurt nodded again. He understood that too.

"It wasn't just while you were gone." Carole hoped Kurt was ready to hear this, and she knew he was when she saw that the sadness in his eyes was not surprise. "It's hard for them because they know they can't always be there for you, not in the way you may need in that moment."

"They're there enough," Kurt whispered, and Carole heard the guilt in his voice.

"I know, honey." She set a hand on his upper arm, careful to keep the touch gentle. "That's what I've been telling them." Sometimes Carole worried that she wasn't there for Kurt enough, but she had learned a long time ago where she was needed and where she wasn't. There was only so much she could do for Kurt, and that little bit was also covered by the others. While she had tried to always make it clear Kurt could come to her for anything, Carole let herself focus on her husband and her son and on taking care of the herd of teenagers so desperate to help Kurt that they sometimes forgot to help themselves.

"You're there enough too," Kurt said, placing his hand briefly over hers before pulling away.

He was a smart young man, and maybe too perceptive sometimes. "Thank you," Carole said, unexpectedly moved by his words. He saw and understood so much and worked so much harder than he should have needed to, especially given everything he had already been through. Carole knew better than to tell him to hold back though. Kurt was the kind of boy who wouldn't want to, even if he knew how. At times she thought he might have learned it from the monster that took him, that maybe he could leave everyone to mold and rot, but caring enough to help was part of what made Kurt feel better about himself. If that hadn't been obvious before, it was once everyone realized how much his friend Puck was hurting.

"Was it hard—being the strong one?"

Carole nodded. "But it's worth it for my family."

"But if you were so busy helping them, who was there to help you?" Kurt ran his fingers through his hair. It was a habit he picked up after being taken; he would never have risked messing his hair before.

"Just because I'm there for them doesn't mean they can't be there for me." She smiled. "Though sometimes Finn's version of being there for me was overcooking dinner."

Kurt chuckled. "I thought Finn knew how to cook."

"Oh, he does," Carole said, "He just has a short attention span."

Another small laugh escaped from Kurt before his eyes suddenly darkened and slid down to rest on his feet instead of Carole's face.

"What is it, Kurt?" Carole asked when he didn't say what troubled him. Instead of answering, he shook his head. "It might help to say it."

"It's just..." Kurt licked his lips and bit at one for a moment before continuing. "What would you do if he was gone too?"

"I don't know," she admitted. Carole didn't want to risk hurting Kurt by lying to him. "But I did have him, and I still do."

"But what if..." He fidgeted with his sleeves and looked at the door. "When Robin found me, he said he'd expected to wait until glee practice." He scratched at his jaw, but it looked like another nervous tic more than an itch. "Everyone would have been there. He couldn't have just walked me out harmlessly if I wasn't alone."

"Kidnappers usually take people when they're alone, Kurt, I doubt—"

"But he said it, and he wasn't just a kidnapper. He was a psychopath. He thought killing people was fun, and if he liked taking them one at a time, then a whole roomful would have been... Christmas." Kurt's hands trembled at his sides, where he had finally set them into clenched fists.

Carole didn't know how to respond to that. Of course the man was a psychopath, but she heard enough about mass killings to know the shooter rarely escaped. Maybe a hostage would have helped, but then the police would have been on his trail. "He wanted to get you away without anyone suspecting, right? That's why he made you lie to Will Schuester."

"Well, yeah, I guess he could have just killed him." Kurt chewed at his lip again. "But maybe his plan changed when I got there early."

"You weren't early." Carol returned her hand to Kurt's arm, hoping the gesture would calm him somewhat. "Your father had been getting calls all week about you skipping class to hide in the choir room. It was a..." She hesitated. "A pattern. It was predictable."

"You mean he planned on finding me before school let out?" Kurt frowned, but he let Carole's hand stay on his arm this time.

"All the news reports said Banks stalked his victims before taking them so he knew the best time to—He... he would have known." Carole found her voice shaking. She tried not to think about Banks too much if she could help it. Instead, she focused on her family, on what she could do for them. But now she thought this was what she could do for Kurt.

"He would have been caught," Kurt's voice was low, like he meant the words for himself. "If he tried to shoot a bunch of kids, someone would have called the cops. Even if he could get out, they'd be after him even harder and faster than when he robbed a bank because he'd have... a kid with him."

Carole nodded. "He wasn't going to hurt Finn. Or the others."

Kurt leapt forward and threw his arms around Carole. He buried his face against the fabric of her sweater and cried. As his small body shook against her, Carole wrapped her arms around the boy and rubbed his back the way she used to for Finn when he was small... and when he wasn't so small too.

"You'll get through this, Kurt," She said because he was strong and she knew he would. Then, because she thought maybe she could believe that too, she added, "You'll be okay."

Kurt cried even harder at that, but it didn't sound as sad as before.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Rob part of this conversation came about because when Nicole/nikkithedead/carlathezombie read Kurt's thoughts about Rob wanting to kill everyone in glee club, she thought him reliable enough a viewpoint character to question Me/Rob on strategy rather than Kurt on irrational fears. I thought maybe I should find a way to make it clear that while Robin was stupid sometimes, he wasn't quite THAT stupid. And if she thought it, then other people would have too.
> 
> After this it's just the last chapter proper and an epilogue. O.O


	81. Kurt: One Step at a Time

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Songs: "So Far Away" by Staind and "Tomorrow" by Avril Lavigne.
> 
> This is it. The next chapter is an epilogue, so this is the last chapter. I don't know if it's right; I don't even know how to tell. I rarely make it to writing the ending when I start a project. I'm open to suggestions, but in a way I'm also really happy with this how it is.

"No 'but's," Kurt said with a shake of his finger, wondering when exactly he had become the one convincing people to take part in social activities. When Burt shut his mouth and gave Kurt an expectant stare, Kurt continued, "We were apart last year. We're together now. Sounds like something to eat dinner and talk about being thankful over."

"Kurt, we all know you're more comfortable with fewer people around, and something like this puts a lot of pressure on you." Burt held his hands in front of him like he thought the gesture would somehow make Kurt understand.

"I've been planning this for over a week, and I've had your okay on it since Sunday." Kurt crossed his arms. "I've missed out on enough already." Burt winced at that, but Kurt kept going. "And I am not missing out on Thanksgiving dinner with all the people who are important to me."

"I know, son, I know. I just... why couldn't we have had it here where we already know you're comfortable." Burt motioned to the Hummel-Hudson dining room.

Kurt sighed. "It's too small." They could sit a mess of teenagers haphazardly through the living room with no problem, but the dining room was standard size, with a standard size table and a standard number of chairs. They could have invited one family of friends over, but not all of them. "Quinn's house is the only one with a dining room meant for entertaining large groups."

"Only because her parents are loaded," Burt scoffed.

"Dad." Kurt raised an eyebrow. "Her parents are A) separated, so we're actually just talking about her mom, and B) willing to have us all over for dinner tonight." He jabbed a finger into the air in front of his father for emphasis. "Ms. Fabray is actually a sweet, wonderful woman with a great eye for color, and we are going to her house tonight because I want my Thanksgiving dinner."

"It's not a dinner with that many people, Kurt. It's a party."

"Then I want my Thanksgiving party. It's for me, you know. I thought you'd be happy given how disappointed you were when I refused to have a birthday party." Kurt still didn't understand why anyone had been surprised that he wanted to treat his birthday that year just like any other day. He had barely noticed its passing except that people kept trying to pester him about it.

"I just want to be sure you're ready."

Kurt nodded. "I know, Dad. And you'll be right there to take me away and bring me home if it turns out I'm not, but I'm sure I'll be fine."

Burt thought on it a moment longer, and then nodded his head with finality. "I'll tell Finn to put on his good shoes. I think I saw him wandering around here in sneakers." He left the dining room without a backward look. As he passed, Kurt caught Carole watching them from the hall, and she gave him a wink. Kurt smiled at her, trying to calm his nerves. Regardless of what he told his father, Kurt was nervous, but this was something he wanted to go through with, something he had planned in part to prove he could.

Kurt and Carole had already spent most of the day at the Fabrays', helping prepare for the party. Carole and Ms. Fabray helped with and oversaw the food and drinks while Kurt and Quinn took lead with decorating. The last time Kurt had a chance like this had been designing his own bedroom, and, to be honest, this was more exciting and fabulous. Strangely, the bedroom had been more stressful—or maybe not so strangely given Kurt's mental state at the time.

With a shake of his head, Kurt cleared his thoughts and headed out to the car. He didn't want to be late to his own party. Even though Burt kept sending him worried looks, everyone chatted amiably in the car ride over. Kurt wanted so badly for it to be just a party. If it became a disaster, a state-of-the-crazy meeting, or even a test, that would have meant he failed. If it turned out a failure, Kurt knew he had only to try again later, but he wanted it to be okay now. Kurt told Finn not to scuff his dress shoes and tried not to think about his last Thanksgiving.

Burt pulled the car into the street in front of the Fabrays' house and turned in his seat, obviously ready to address the family. Kurt opened his door and hopped out of the car before his dad could say anything. By the time he reached the front door, Quinn and Rachel were already waiting for him. Rachel gave him a hug and wished him a happy Thanksgiving before rushing off to meet Finn on his way up to the house. Quinn greeted Kurt with a smile, but they still weren't close enough that either of them wanted anything like a hug.

"You look nervous," Quinn said as she led Kurt to the refreshments.

"That's because I am," he admitted. "But not panicking yet." He tried for a smile but wound up with something too wavering.

"Drop the 'yet,' Kurt. You've handled worse." With a wave of her hand, Quinn left to greet someone else at the door—Santana by the sound of it. Thanksgiving a year ago had fallen a few days after Robin began training Kurt but long before Kurt realized it had been training. That had definitely been worse. He shuddered at the memory and set his drink back on the table untouched.

Kurt wandered farther away from the sound of their voices to find Puck. He had noticed the Puckerman family's car outside and hoped to spend some time with Puck before the night got going. Finding him wasn't actually that hard; Kurt just strolled to the location he and Quinn had chosen for the hors d'oeuvres. Sure enough, he found Puck sucking the pimento out of an olive before tossing the olive itself into his mouth.

"Don't eat them all, Puck. I'm pretty sure Brittany asked for them specifically because she likes to eat them exactly the way you just did." Kurt playfully swatted Puck's hand away from the olive tray as he spoke.

"Dude, finally." Puck groaned. "I have been waiting for you forever. People keep asking me what I'm thankful for and then giving me this weird 'I know you're lying' look when I say some shit like I'm thankful we're all together so we can have this soiree or whatever."

"Soiree?"

"I heard it in a movie once. Did I use it right?" When Kurt nodded, Puck waved his hand, dismissing the topic. "Anyway, it's like they expect me to say something..."

"Something that makes it sound like you won't hurt yourself anymore?" Kurt suggested when Puck hesitated.

"Yeah." He rubbed at the back of his neck. "But I don't think they'd like hearing, 'I'm thankful I nearly killed myself when I should have been there for my best friend because it's been easier to resist cutting since then,' either."

"Have you cut since then?" He reached a hand out to hold Puck's, letting him know Kurt was there for him whatever his answer.

Puck nodded. "But... less." He squeezed Kurt's hand.

"Come on," Kurt pulled Puck away from the food by his hands. "I wanted to talk to you."

"This, what we're doing now, isn't talking?"

"Shut up. You know what I mean." He tugged harder at Puck's hand until he followed Kurt to the empty guest bedroom. He took a seat on the loveseat by the window and pulled Puck down beside him. Even though he'd been planning out this conversation all day, Kurt didn't know where to start. All the carefully selected words had fallen from his head somewhere between the olives and the loveseat. Finally he opened his mouth and just hoped for the best. "I don't think I'm a monster," he said.

"Took you long enough." Puck rolled his eyes.

"This is serious." Kurt punched Puck's arm lightly. "People have been telling me I deserve to be forgiven for things that weren't my fault for so long I let myself believe that if they were my fault, then I didn't deserve forgiveness at all."

"I still don't think it was your fault," Puck whispered, staring at his hands.

"Doesn't matter." Kurt took in a deep breath and let it out. "It doesn't matter whose fault it was. It happened, but... it's okay if I move on."

Puck leaned forward to wrap his arms around Kurt's shoulders. "The nightmares?"

"Still there. Just because I know I won't become like Robin doesn't mean I'm instantly cured of the fear." He shrugged. "I think I'll be okay though. Eventually."

Puck grinned. "You'll be better than okay, Kurt."

Kurt held up a hand as if telling Puck to slow down. "One step at a time."

"Fine, fine."

"Puck," Kurt said, voice more hesitant than before. "You'll be okay too."

"Thanks, Kurt." He pulled Kurt in for another, longer hug. "How long do you think it takes?" he asked after a long pause, voice soft and thin.

"Probably too long, but I promise I'll be there with you, okay." He hugged Puck back tightly. "Come on, we should get back to the party."

"I like soiree better. Sounds fancy." Puck grinned and stood from the loveseat.

"That's because it's French," Kurt said, raising an eyebrow. "French is always 'fancy.'"

They headed back to the foyer to find almost everyone had arrived. Kurt had known how many people would be here based on how many friends he had and how many members were in each of their families, but seeing all those people was different from imagining them. Numbers were vague and abstract things, but people filled space, closing in on him. Kurt reminded himself he faced way more people at school every day, and that these people were on his side. It helped a little. It helped more when Puck took his hand again.

People mingled, chatted, snacked and drank, though Puck complained that the punch wasn't even spiked and started planning to correct the oversight until Kurt pointed out that Puck's younger sister was drinking that punch. Too many guests, both those who should know better and those who shouldn't, asked Kurt and Puck what they were thankful for until Kurt began giving them wide eyes and toothy grins and replying, "That the scars don't cover my face too much." Apparently the news circulated around the room and the questions stopped. Puck broke out laughing every time someone gave Kurt a strange look though. Kurt thought he'd laughed himself into a seizure when Burt and Finn rushed over to see if Kurt was okay.

Eventually everyone quieted at the chiming of metal against glass accented by hushes from those closer to the glass for those farther away. Kurt groaned when he realized it was his father standing beside Ms. Fabray and her chiming wine glass.

Burt Hummel cleared his throat and smiled at the crowd. "I promise this won't be long," he began, "We've got turkey to eat." The crowd chuckled indulgently while Kurt rolled his eyes. "In my family we have a tradition of going around the table saying what we're each thankful for. Maybe that's not exactly practical with this many people," Another round of light laughter followed as if on queue. "But I just wanted to say how incredibly thankful I am for my son Kurt. There was a time when I thought... well, I thought I'd lost him, and having him here with me again is like a gift straight from God." He smiled at Kurt while the evening's guests clapped. Kurt thought he heard a, "Praise," come from Mercedes' direction.

Ms. Fabray and Quinn started showing people to their tables. Not everyone could sit together, but Kurt, Quinn, and Mercedes had spent hours trying to find the best way to separate everyone. On top of that, they had to make sure the glee club members had easy access to and from the stage even though they each had to sit with their respective families. It wouldn't be a party with New Directions unless they performed though. As soon as Kurt suggested his plan, every single member had insisted on it. Kurt eventually gave in and asked his dad about the prices of raised platforms that could fit into the Fabrays' large entertaining hall.

Kurt took his own seat between Finn and Puck at the table with each of their families. Given how much time their children interacted, Kurt thought it a little strange that their families hardly knew each other. Apparently Burt did too, by the way he instantly started up conversation with Puck's mother. Puck rolled his eyes and made faces at his sister while everyone found their seats.

Dinner was fantastic, but Kurt hadn't expected anything less with Carole on the job. Rachel, of course, had a stunning solo that would have left Kurt in tears if he weren't so busy trying to stifle his laughter at the way Puck teared up listening to her. Smaller groups took turns singing so everyone had plenty of time to eat. Kurt and Puck had agreed on a duet, or a mash-up since they couldn't agree on a single song. The two songs together, Kurt thought, expressed their feelings well though. They could have been one or the other, but both together fit best.

Kurt wondered if Puck was nervous. Watching him, he found Puck kept scratching at his forearms and messing with his mohawk. He was definitely nervous. Kurt took Puck's hand in his and squeezed, hoping to reassure his friend. It was almost time. Kurt had finished eating a while ago and focused now on making sure nothing was going to clog his throat while he sang. Rachel had almost refused to eat at all just to keep her throat in shape for singing, but Kurt just made sure her solo was the first. He told Quinn he didn't care though, so he and Puck were last.

It was time. He tapped Puck's elbow to let him know and waved to the rest of his table as he headed away to the stage. He and Puck had practiced in secret, so only Quinn knew what they were doing because they needed her to start the music for them. The first notes played, and Puck took Kurt's hand as they faced their friends and families.

(This is my life)  
And I wanna believe you  
When you tell me that it'll be ok  
(It's not what it was before)  
(All these feelings I've shared)  
Ya I try to believe you  
But I don't

The two songs merged and overlapped in places, weaving Puck and Kurt's voices together. In some ways, he felt that their songs should have been reversed, Puck taking "Tomorrow" and Kurt "So Far Away," but they didn't have to be. Both songs applied to both singers to different degrees. That was why they sang together. Kurt hoped someday soon they could move past both songs. For a long time now, his entire life had been his past, but now he was finally ready to live in the present and look to his future.

(These are my words)  
When you say that it's gonna be,  
It always turns out to be a different way  
(I think I'm doing okay)  
I try to believe you  
Not today, today, today, today, today...  
(I must be sleeping)

From the small stage, Kurt could see that not everyone understood, but not everyone had to. The ones who mattered most, the people closest to him and to Puck, smiled in a way that told Kurt they understood what he was trying to say, that maybe not everything was perfect, but that it could get better. That he believed it could get better.

I don't know how I'll feel  
(All the mistakes one life can take)  
(They all finally start to go away)  
Tomorrow, tomorrow  
(Now that we're here, it's so far away)  
I don't know what to say  
(I feel like I can face the day)  
Tomorrow, tomorrow  
Is a different day

Kurt squeezed Puck's hand and felt an answering pressure on his own hand. They had decided to do without choreography. It didn't feel right to dance for this performance. Facing the audience and staring out at them seemed the best way to approach it because that was how they both hoped they could approach the future, someday if not today.

Gimme a little time,  
Leave me alone a little while,  
Maybe it's not too late,  
(I can forgive, and I'm not ashamed)  
Not today, today, today, today, today...  
(To be the person that I am today)  
Today, today, today, today, today

They left the stage together. Puck stopped Kurt before they reached their table to dab at his cheek with the handkerchief he'd used for his own tears while Rachel sang.

"Now who's crying?" he teased as Kurt snatched the handkerchief to clean his face himself. Kurt hadn't noticed the tears until Puck started wiping them away.

"Ugh I bet my face is all red and splotchy now too," he complained. "I wonder if I can hide in the bathroom until it passes..."

"Dude, you look fine." Puck rolled his eyes and pulled Kurt toward their table. "Come enjoy your party. Quinn just opened up the mic for karaoke, and I'm pretty sure I convinced Sam's dad to sing 'Bootylicious' while we were snacking on those olives."

"...I doubt that," Kurt said just as the music for "Bootylicious" started up. "Oh God." He turned to find, sure enough, Sam's father on stage. Beside him stood Burt and Carole. "Oh, God, no, make it stop." Puck only laughed as the adults began to sing. "I am scarred for life, Puck. Scarred. For life."

"Nah, you just weren't ready for that jelly." Puck winked and nudged Kurt with his elbow.

"That really doesn't help." He laughed though, and Puck laughed with him. It felt normal. It felt like a memory he'd lost for a while to finally regain. It felt... good.

Kurt grabbed Puck's arm and dove back into the party—his party—or Puck's soiree. He wasn't worried anymore about either of them freaking out and having to run away from tonight. They would be okay.

"It's you, by the way," he said as Puck changed their direction to veer for the drink table.

"What is? Were we talking? Did I miss something important?" Despite his words, he didn't sound worried and went ahead with pouring himself some more punch.

"What I'm thankful for, you dolt." He emphasized the words with a light play-slap to Puck's shoulder.

Puck grinned. "You too, Kurt."

Kurt rolled his eyes. "Come on. They've got most of the tables out of the way." He pulled Puck to what was now a quickly-filling dance floor. Kurt hadn't danced for fun since he came home, but tonight he would dance with his friends, his family, and a few strangers who he only knew previously as names on his friends' RSVPs. To be honest, it was very much like having fun, and Kurt thought he might try having more of it again someday soon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...You don't want to know how many times I changed the song for this chapter. I'm not even sure I remember, to be honest.
> 
> My biggest worry with this as an ending is Puck. I know he's not come as far yet as Kurt, but at the same time, it's Kurt's story before it's Puck's.


	82. Epilogue: Kurt: Happy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is it. Oh my god I'm freaking out. I don't want to post it anymore; I'm not ready to be done. Go away. Shoo. I'm keeping it. It's mine. XP

Somehow New York City was more massive than Kurt remembered. He had been so lost in his own mind when he came here last that maybe he literally hadn't seen most of the city. Now countless buildings towered over him, covered in lights and surrounded by people. So many people. They scurried through the city like ants over a piece of dropped fruit at a picnic. Kurt thought of ants over the corpse of a half-eaten bird too but decided the fruit was more comfortable.

"People will think we're tourists with you gawking like that," Meg said as she elbowed Kurt's side. "I won't let you stay with me if you make me look like I'm from small-town whoknowsville."

"That doesn't make any sense." Kurt rolled his eyes. He had expected Meg to turn him away when he called asking if she still had a room he could stay in, but she had seemed excited to have a roommate again. Judging by the stories she told of people she'd housed over the years since Kurt stayed with her as Alex Hood, she was probably just grateful to have someone who had already dedicated some time to dealing with his issues. Then again, she loved bringing home what she called lost puppies, so maybe Kurt wasn't her ideal roommate anymore.

"I always make perfect sense. Not my fault you don't understand." She shook her head and gave her best obviously fake sigh. "Whatever, I'll meet you back at my—our place later, okay. Don't want to intrude on your first big city lunch date, which, by the way, is right over there." She motioned at a cafe across the street that she had recommended to Kurt as she turned to walk back the way they had come.

Kurt rolled his eyes at her back and called, "It's not a date." He could have found the cafe on his own; his phone had GPS even if his own sense of direction had failed him. A man in a business suit shouldered Kurt aside with a shout to watch where he was going even though Kurt had been standing still. Kurt's hand stayed well away from the new knife in his pocket, but he had to resist punching the guy. Instead he just shouted back something about having wanted to tap that ass until he realized how loose it was. If nothing else, he got a good laugh out of the guy's face when he heard that.

Once he was fairly certain no one was staring at him anymore, Kurt made his way to the crosswalk. Lima had smaller streets and less traffic, as well as lower gas prices, so Kurt still wasn't quite used to walking down city blocks or waiting at crossing lights. Still, he hadn't been here long yet, and he remembered adjusting quickly before. When the light changed, Kurt moved with the mass of strangers across the street. He might have caught one woman staring at his scars, but he tried to ignore it and refused to pull his sleeves down over his forearms. It was hot. He needed to dress for the weather. Still, Kurt's wrists itched in the way they always did when he imagined someone staring at them.

He entered the cafe and paused for a moment, giving his eyes time to adjust to the dim interior. As soon as he could see, he knew his table was the one by the window with the metal grating and a hanging basket of flowers over it instead of a lamp. He started walking over with a greeting on his lips before he stopped short.

"Oh my God," he sputtered when nothing more meaningful came to mind. "Your hair!"

"More like lack-of," Puck said with a grin, rubbing his hand over the smooth scalp where he'd had a mohawk only days before when they spoke over Skype. He pulled Kurt into a hug before retaking his seat with a grin. As they separated, Kurt chanced a look at Puck's forearms out of habit. He hadn't seen a new mark there for a long time, but he still checked when he could.

"I can't believe Christine let you shave it. I'm pretty sure she was as interesting in dating your hair as the rest of you." Kurt made himself grin. He always made himself be happy for Puck when he got a new girlfriend. It wasn't all that hard, he told himself. Not like Puck was dating a guy this time; something about Puck having a boyfriend only reminded Kurt of how much he could have been Puck's boyfriend if he stopped pushing his friend away.

"We, uh, broke up." Puck winced and grinned sheepishly at Kurt.

"It wasn't the hair, was it?" Even though Kurt knew it wasn't, he thought it better to joke than to... well, to ask Puck if he had dumped another perfectly good person just because they couldn't be Kurt.

"No," Puck answered with a chuckle. "We just weren't right for each other." His eyes drifted to the window, but he didn't seem to focus on anything outside it.

Kurt was saved from thinking of something else to say when Puck left the table to pick up drinks he must have ordered before Kurt arrived. He set a non-fat mocha in front of Kurt and kept something horribly sweet and disgustingly fattening for himself. Kurt made Puck share some of it and almost gagged before returning gratefully to his mocha.

"I was thinking of moving," Puck said after they had quietly sipped their drinks for a few moments.

"Where to?" It never surprised Kurt anymore when Puck said he wanted a change of scenery. As soon as his and Kurt's therapists both started mentioning the word "codependency," he had run away to California intent on expanding his pool-cleaning business only to keep moving around like the word chased him off no matter where he lived. Regardless of distance, he and Kurt had always talked over the phone or on Skype, and he flew in to visit regularly, especially during the winter when no one was using their pools and he couldn't find a job.

Puck fidgeted, poking and scratching at his forearms. Kurt raised an eyebrow because Puck moved all the time, and he had only ever been nervous telling Kurt about it the first time.

"Spill it before you spill your drink instead, Puck."

Puck let out a low laugh, and it seemed to calm him. "New York."

"Are you sure that's..." Kurt trailed off, unsure what he thought it wasn't.

"If you don't want me here, I won't. I mean I miss seeing you as often as I used to, in person I mean. And anytime I wanted to go home before, you were there because you were going to school near Lima, but now you're pretty much the opposite of near Lima, and it's not like I'm doing anything important in Tampa anyway. I mean, to be honest, except for being close to a bunch of amusement parks I can't afford to go to and having some awesome beaches, Florida sucks."

"Puck, you're rambling. And possibly not breathing." Kurt paused, not sure if he should say more. "And scratching at the scars again."

"I know. You just sort of stared at me instead of answering though, so I'm pretending it's your fault in this case." Puck grinned and jabbed a finger in Kurt's direction. Maybe it had been normal nervousness; he had pulled himself together quickly.

"I... if you wouldn't mind it, then I'd like to have you nearby again." To be honest, 'like' wasn't quite the right word. 'Fuck you for taking so damn long,' was more along the lines of what Kurt felt. He missed Puck. They talked every day still, but it wasn't the same with all that distance between them.

"Really?" Puck grinned widely. All signs of his earlier unease had vanished.

"Really." Kurt nodded, returning Puck's smile. He reached across the table to take Puck's hand in his. "I've missed you."

Puck stared down at their hands, and Kurt reminded himself firmly that Puck was not staring at his scars. His wrist itched anyway.

"Is staying with Meg again pretty cool?" Puck straightened his shoulders as he spoke, obviously changing topic to avoid one he and Kurt had been avoiding for years.

"If only she'd stop nagging." Kurt was practiced at letting the topic change too. Maybe this time though... He tapped a finger against his lip, thinking. It had been so long, and even if he and Puck had been far apart, they had still been through so much. And they were still close. Distance couldn't change that. "Hey, Puck," he said at last, still not sure if he should.

"Yes, that'd be me." The cocky smirk slipped a little when he realized Kurt was about to say something serious.

"Do you still... feel the way you used to? About me, I mean." By reflex Kurt tried to still his hands, but he realized then that they weren't trembling. He remembered how terrified he had been in high school that he would never be able to be with anyone without flashing straight back to being with Robin Banks. That was why his hands used to tremble, but he wasn't afraid anymore.

Puck nodded. "I'll always feel that way about you, Kurt." He cocked his head. "Maybe somewhat less with the adolescent confusion though because, thank God, I'm not a teenager anymore."

A laugh slipped past Kurt's lips, catching him by surprise. "I was always so busy telling you we weren't ready that I'm not sure I ever got around to... to telling you I felt the same way. Feel. Do feel now the same way. God, what is English, and how is it spoken. Please deport me before I make this worse."

Puck laughed a little too loudly for the small cafe. He squeezed Kurt's hand as a grin split his face. "If you're saying that now, or trying to—and don't worry I'll get you into an English Second Language program or something—does that mean..." He paused, clearly afraid to say it. "You might be ready?" The final part came out as barely more than a whisper.

Kurt nodded, not trusting his voice just yet. The only time Kurt had seen a man as happy as Puck looked now was when he stood by his father as Carole walked down the aisle to make the joining of the Hummel and Hudson families official.

"God, I love you, Kurt." Puck poured years of stifled emotion into the outburst of words. Kurt had to wonder how many times Puck had held himself back from saying them.

"I love you too, Puck." Kurt had been afraid to say it for so long, afraid even to admit it to himself because he was afraid of what it meant. He had mixed Puck in his mind with Robin, or maybe he had mixed himself with Robin and Puck with him. Or both, or something even more confusing, if that was possible. But right now, in this little cafe with a metal chair digging into his butt and the sun moving into position to shine in his eye, Kurt wasn't afraid. He knew he loved Puck a long time ago, and now he knew he was in love with Puck. For years, Kurt had worked at learning to be okay. Now that Kurt was ready to learn to be happy too, he wanted to walk that road with Puck beside him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And we're done. I love you all. No, really, I have no idea how I wound up with such fantastic readers or why you put up with my ridiculously inconsistent posting schedule and chapter after chapter of nothing but conversations. I like to think I've come a long way in writing this fic, and you all have come along with me, and even pushed me there.
> 
> So if you've reviewed every chapter or never reviewed at all, if you've been here from the day I posted the first chapter or if you stumbled in here by accident years after I finished, if you've enjoyed my story or just suffered through because ah crap now you need to know what happens, thank you.
> 
> ...sorry for making you shippers wait until the last moment. I need to go back and fix the line in the first chapter saying it's not a Puckurt story because boy was I wrong.
> 
> Unrelated: Robin's middle name is Oliver. His initials are ROB. His parents were clearly evil.


End file.
